


Time

by aishahiwatari



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Attempted Assault, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Grieving, Kind of d/s, M/M, Non-graphic Enema, Not actually as bad as the tags make it sound, Off-screen Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Panic Attack, Prison AU, Prison Daddy Dynamic, Sexual Coercion, Unintentional Violence During Panic Attack, dark characters, normalised violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-03-17 23:30:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18974593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishahiwatari/pseuds/aishahiwatari
Summary: Jim has always joked he's far too pretty for prison. It's not so funny anymore.Before he's even reached his cell, he's been referred to by numerous other inmates as an organ donor.That bodes well.





	1. Chapter 1

"Nice place you got here," Jim says as he's walked down the long, unmarked corridor, because he is an idiot who doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut. His companion doesn't even glare at him for his poor attempt at humour, likely heard multiple times before, just gives him a look of such deep indifference that even Jim doesn't make another attempt.

He guesses he's just making the most of his last moments in something resembling civilisation. At any moment, he'll be abandoned to the murky depths of the prison system, where he'll be surrounded only by those who are either as vicious or as unfortunate as Jim is. There are so many doors, so many sets of keys and codes and passes to be shown before he makes it to what has to be the last one. It looks like something out of an ancient vault, hewn from stone. It opens with a click and then the whirring of a mechanical system Jim can't even begin to comprehend the workings of.

It gives him a moment to breathe, though, to close his eyes and inhale, to let the filling of his lungs straighten his back, give him the appearance of confidence. He knows how important it is to make a good first impression. Exhaling releases the tension he's carrying visibly, although he's still ready, still prepared for whatever might await him inside. 

Most of the prison itself is automated, has been for years. It's only the transition from the outside that has the more personal touch. Living guards patrol the perimeter, observe through security cameras, but the rest is managed by a complex Artificial Intelligence network and automated systems. And, of course, the prisoners themselves. Jim knows how it works. He's met enough people in bars who have been detained, themselves, far more who claimed to have been. He knows he has to make alliances, early on. That the food will be terrible. That he will be insanely, unendingly bored. And that he'll lose a part of himself that he might never get back.

He had always joked he was far too pretty for prison.

It's not so funny anymore.

He steps through the huge door, doesn't let himself look back when it closes behind him. The corridor in front of him is a stark white, still unmarked. There is only one direction in which to walk, so he does. He has nothing with him. He's wearing a prison-issue jumpsuit. Not at all helpfully, he looks quite good in orange. On his way in, he was stripped, disinfected, scanned and probed in every way imaginable by cold, unfeeling machines.

There's probably some sort of joke there about that being his regular Saturday night, but Jim's sense of humour is somewhat failing him.

As he walks, he realises there are lights embedded in the floor, the walls. Security cameras are concealed every few feet, just visible enough to assure people of their existence.

When he reaches the end of the hallway, he can go either left or right. He has no time to consider his options before a firm, ambiguously-gendered voice says, "Turn to your left."

The lights along the floor also light up in green, indicating the direction in which he should walk.

For a moment Jim considers turning right.

He turns left. Walks some more. Three more times, he is given directions by sound and sight, until he has no idea in which direction the exit would even be.

He begins to hear voices. Shouting. His heart rate picks up, his body conditioned to respond to those indicators of aggression. It's unlikely he'll be getting much rest, in this place.

Jim has had worse. At least they'll feed him here. At least he only has to worry about himself.

He rounds another corner and enters an open space much more abruptly than he'd anticipated.  It looks like every communal area he has ever seen, except the chairs are all bolted down and there's nobody there. There are no objects scattered around to suggest any sort of habitation. And along the walls to either side, there are transparent doors into cells. Cells each containing one being, or two.

The lights lead him further, and he follows them. Obviously, he has no idea where they lead, but apparently some of the other prisoners do. It starts from the cells farthest away, presumably closest to his final destination, but the general jeers and taunts begin to take on a theme. 

"I'll have you when he's done with you, darling."

"You need a friend, let me know! You'll be back."

"Another organ donor, then?"

"Not seen anything like you in a long time."

"Alright, organ donor!"

"Good luck, organ donor."

Well. That bodes well. It had been too much to hope that Jim might have a cell to himself, but clearly his companion is not the friendliest. 

Jim doesn't let himself pause by the door, won't show weakness by hesitating in front of the general population, steps inside the moment it opens. He's tense and ready to fight, or to talk his way out of something.

He is not ready, at all, for the man who eyes him from the bunk on one side of the cell, who looks him up and down like he's dissecting him in his head.

"Been a while since they put someone in with me."

Jim swallows. "Promise I don't snore."

"S'alright. I know how to stop you if you do."

Jim's eyes widen a little. It should sound threatening but it's weirdly sexy, purred in that rough Southern accent by the disarmingly gorgeous man in front of him. He feels on edge, like he's watching a horror movie and expecting something to jump out at the main character at any moment. Except he is the main character. And the pervading sense of dread will continue for the next few years.

His cellmate is very possibly the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, sprawled over his bunk, all long limbs and broad shoulders. He's reading from a padd, one of the kid's ones that are basically impossible to break and can be blocked from the network, maybe studying. There's little else in the cell. A small sink, a replicator unit embedded in the wall. There aren't even blankets on the bunks, they're just tough-looking, waterproofed squares of what vaguely resembles padding on stone shelves that jut from the walls. 

Cautiously, Jim makes his way to the free one, and sits down. It feels so weird to have absolutely nothing in his hands, nothing to distract him or occupy his mind except surviving this conversation.

"I didn't bring my donor card. Is there a form I need to fill in, or-" Jim has really never known how to keep his mouth shut. 

Tall, Dark, Gorgeous and Terrifying looks vaguely disappointed. "Who told you?"

"Almost everyone."

"They should know better than to spoil my fun. I get so little of it, these days."

Well, that could be good. Redirecting the bloodthirstiness towards the rest of the population might mean Jim makes it through his first night with both kidneys still intact. "Is that what happened to your previous cellmate? Wasn't fun enough?"

That gets a laugh. The padd is set down on the bunk. From where Jim is sitting, he can see an anatomical model, the skin and muscle graphically stripped away, all the bones clearly labelled. "Well he's certainly no fun now."

Yikes. "Okay, well, I'd like to survive this, if that's alright with you, so how about we have an actual conversation and see if we can work out some kind of agreement?"

"This isn't an actual conversation?"

"This is bullshit, wrapped in lies and vague implications. I don't want to try and kill you. I feel like that's kind of a rarity in here. Maybe we can work something out that lets us both sleep at night."

"I'd like that." His cellmate nods, seems to be eyeing him contemplatively, although the smile on his face is Not Reassuring. "But that's all well and good in here. But out there, there'll be a little more competition for your- cooperation. I'll be the one getting you through the days, to start with. So what is it you can do for me?"

He's still bizarrely hot. Jim knows that he shouldn't be letting that cloud his judgment, but he does. "What do you need? Aside from -apparently- harvested organs."

"Those are valuable. But let's call that Plan B."

There's no time for more before a bell rings. It's loud and penetrating. Jim gets the distinct impression that the whole conversation was planned that way, that he's already being manipulated. 

"Better think of something quick, kid," his cellmate says with a sigh, as he gets to his feet. He is tall, but not that much more than Jim. And he's broad at his shoulders but slim at the waist, and all of that is somehow apparent in the same orange jumpsuit that Jim is wearing.

"What does the bell mean? I skipped orientation."

"Funny. Bell means lunch. Sit with me. I'll talk you through things."

"With a view to potentially murdering me tonight if I turn out not to be useful enough?"

His cellmate snorts. "If I murdered people, don't you think that's what they'd call me?"

"I know I'm going to regret this. What do they call you?"

-

"Doctor."

"Hey, Doc."

"Good morning, Doctor."

Trailing after his cellmate, who is apparently a doctor or as close to one as anybody is likely to get, in here, Jim feels weirdly like he's in high school again. Back out in the common area, he's eyed with interest from a distance by people standing in small, tight-knit groups, knows better than to return that gaze and takes everything in peripherally instead. Everybody seems to have their place, and they all take their seats on benches at the long tables like they've been designated.

"Is it true that you're not supposed to ask people what they did to get put in here?" he risks asking, hoping that's far enough from actually doing it to not accidentally cause offence. He's waved into a seat next to the doctor, anyway, somewhere towards the edge of the outermost table. It says more to him about the doctor's place in the prison hierarchy than anything else. His reputation must really be something, for him to be permitted that level of power over those who are forced to have their backs to the majority of the prison population.

"I think it's more that the question reminds some people that there is a life outside of these walls. They don't like that. Don't get the pie, it's just yesterday's leftover steak."

Jim had just been looking down at the screen built into the table, presenting him with his options. The others sound even less appetising, and he's not even hungry, but to admit that would be to show his nerves. He knows that he needs to keep his strength up, picks the vegetarian option after seeing a couple of his neighbours doing the same.

Their food is delivered by automated bots, suspended from the ceiling. Theirs are some of the first to arrive. In the corner opposite theirs, another group is similarly honoured. Jim doesn't stare, but he makes a note to pay attention to those who are sat there. He eats quickly, barely tastes anything, although that's probably for the best. He's used to bolting his food with the threat of having it taken away hanging over his head, even if the memories it brings up make him want to vomit.

"Don't choke," the doctor says, but he's not much slower, himself. He does, however, make it look effortless. "You'll get to know everyone soon enough. By sight, at the least. It's generally accepted that there are four people you might need to worry about.

"The first one is the one you've noticed already. Scotty. They call him the Engineer. He can fix anything. Knows how to get around the bot patrols. Gets extra food rations, too."

"Lucky him." Jim mutters, poking at the remnants of some sort of pink, gelatinous goop that had supposedly been dessert. The doctor smirks. 

"Rumour has it he can get anywhere in the prison without a single guard knowing. Although that's partly down to his second. The Navigator."

"Holy fuck," Jim can't help but react when he catches sight of him through the shifting mass of bodies between them.

"Seventeen years old, and he's broken out of every juvenile prison he's ever been held in. Supposedly he has a memory for blueprints, and a source that can get them to him. Don't let him fool you, though. He's not as sweet as he looks."

"He'd be dead if he was."

"Don't let Scotty hear you say that. Next. Spock. He's in the far corner. Been in here longer than anyone. Nobody knows how long, or why. They just call him the First."

"With all these nicknames, I'm beginning to feel like I'm in a bad mafia movie."

"You get a nickname, means people know who you are. Might save your life. Don't knock it. He knows everything that happens around here before it's going to. Every one of the therapists, the tutors. Anybody sets foot in this place, he knows them. Probably already knows more about you than I do."

"I doubt that," Jim muses, lets his gaze travel so he catches sight of the stern-faced, straight-backed man in the corner. "Is he-"

"A pain in the ass?"

"He's Vulcan."

"Half-Vulcan."

"Says who?"

"Says me. Now shut up and listen. His second is Uhura. The Communicator. You need something done, on the outside. She'll get the message. Any language, any planet, any time. Even get a reply, for a price."

"Wow."

The doctor gives him a sidelong look, presumably for his wistful tone. "You're not the first to say that. You'd be the first to get anywhere, though, if you did. She's been pestered, followed, harassed. Nobody gets to touch."

"Impressive."

"She is. Then, there's Pike. He's got a mouth on him, too. Could convince anyone to do anything. Probably got the most followers of anyone in here. They call him the Captain."

"Of course they do."

"And next to him, the Pilot. Sulu."

"What'd he do, try and escape in a stolen helicopter?"

"Nobody ever claimed these nicknames were imaginative. He's a fighter, too. Hand to hand combat. Sort of a command type. Leads the masses when Pike needs to be in two places at once."

The doctor stops, after that, looking out over the groups of people who have mostly gathered in smaller groups to make meaningless conversation. Work will come next, so they're making the most of what passes for free time when nobody can so much as leave their seats. There's nobody sat alone. Nobody vulnerable, nobody left without someone to watch their back.

"Everybody with any sort of power here knows somebody who knows somebody on the outside, who can get them something. Or they have skills. Something they can offer. You need to figure out what yours is." The Doctor looks at Jim, gives him an assessing glance, and smiles. "Or be prepared to spend a lot of time on your knees."


	2. Chapter 2

Jim gets to stick with Bones -as he's privately nicknamed him, fed up with the cliche-ridden attempts of the masses- during their work shift in the gardens. The process of procuring food for the inmates could be automated. It isn't. It's not even assisted. They're allowed outside into a heavily guarded compound to toil in the sun, almost unbearable, to plant rows of vegetables that vaguely resemble onions and multi-coloured tubers and water them, under many watchful eyes.

Jim's farmed before, and this might not be the same crop but the work is familiar. The prisoners naturally defer to those they've internally designated as authorities, even though it's only Sulu who seems to actually have any idea what he's doing out here.

Bones does, a little, too. "Don't work your ass off. You'll leave nothing for tomorrow and you don't want to get caught standing around."

Jim's just glad they're not breaking rocks. Doing something so pointless would have driven him crazy. As it is, he's sore, because he hasn't worked this physically in a long time, and he's sweating, but he's not despairing.

Except after work, it's time to shower.

That's much worse than it ever was in high school.

"Just keep your eyes and your hands to yourself. If there's a scrap, don't get involved. I mean it."

Jim understands all-too-well why the warning is necessary. They're all naked, and there's no need for them all to be sharing a space that could have been divided up and automated, that would have been better served with sonics. Jim gets the impression that these little moments, these small tensions escalating into minor incidents, are all that keeps the population from building up into major conflict.

That day, though, nothing happens beyond some exchanged words. The other prisoners are still calling him Donor, but it would be worse. Bones exchanges nods with a few of them, and Jim does his best to remember their faces. Any sort of friendliness is better than nothing.

He has more of a chance to observe his surroundings at dinner. The factions are clearer now that he knows to look for them, the animosity building at the middle table, the haunt of the factionless, making him frown. He listens while pretending to be focused on his food, but catches nothing. He is, however, aware of Bones' eyes on him, shrewd and contemplative.

They're sent to their cells again after dinner. Jim wants to breathe a sigh of relief when that door closes behind him, but he knows the man he's trapped with could be more dangerous than the rest of the population combined. Still. He's made up his mind about one thing. 

So when Bones turns to face him, Jim doesn't retreat. It makes Bones smile.

"You've seen the world you live in now. What can you offer me?"

Jim smiles right back. And sinks to his knees.

He's thought about it. His skills aren't really tangible, can't be labelled yet. He doesn't know what he'll find himself capable of, in this new environment, the strict routine. But this is something he can do, that he can offer. 

He's looked around that table. He's seen that the Doctor commands power, wields a reputation Jim can't even imagine how he's earned. But there's nobody at his side. That seat was free for Jim. And he's going to earn it.

"You think I couldn't get that anywhere?" Bones asks. His arms are still folded, but he's watching Jim with a hunger in his eyes that, Jim imagines, goes beyond a physical lust.

"Not without worrying they might bite it off. I'm useful. Resourceful. But I'm new. I need someone to show me the ropes and you need someone to watch your back."

"You could offer that without this."

"I could. But I don't want to. I want to be yours."

He's getting somewhere. Bones pets his hair contemplatively, and Jim relaxes into it. He's not stupid. He knows that without this man on his side, he's as good as dead. He can't share a cell with someone he doesn't trust and he knows a good thing when he sees it. Bones has the power, and Jim has the ability to bring more people in. Together they can be unstoppable. And there's no better way to quickly build trust than this.

"What makes you think I want that?" Bones asks next, but his voice is low, sweet, and when Jim leans in, he's not stopped. He noses against the beginnings of hardness in Bones' jumpsuit, inhales the scent of soap and underlying masculinity.

"I'll be good, for you. All yours. Nobody else's."

"You do look awful pretty, down there."

"Let me prove it."

"And in return- I keep you safe. Show you how things work, around here."

Jim nods. Opens his mouth to press his tongue to the hot, growing bulge in front of him, can't help but grin when Bones starts to unfasten his jumpsuit. He's gorgeous, too, chest toned from the work he does, stomach somehow flat and taut even with the terrible food they have access to.

Bones' cock is lovely, hard and straight and big enough that Jim will really feel it when he attempts to put his mouth on it. Except Bones clenches a fist in his hair, brings him up short, makes him whimper helplessly.

"You bite, and I will make you wish you'd never been born."

"I won't-" Jim strains at the hold. He's already hard himself, pressing uncomfortably against his clothing, but this isn't about him. It's about proving his loyalty. "I promise. I'm good at this."

"I bet you are. Filthy slut like you, dropping to your knees for the first convicted felon you meet."

If he's expecting that to put Jim off, he couldn't be more wrong. Jim whimpers and pulls against the hold on his hair. He loves sucking cock. Loves having his throat stretched wide and his air cut off, the slide of silken flesh past his lips. Submitting for someone who will tell him how bad he is, or how good he's being, or will come down his throat and prove it.

He's still being held back, looks up, eyes pleading. "Please, Bones."

His hair is yanked, then. "What did you just call me."

"You needed a better nickname," Jim pants. He'd really been hoping to have this conversation later. Or at least not while he's so close to getting what he wants. "You were looking at anatomy on your padd when I got here. I'm not calling you Doctor, it's just fucking ridiculous."

"You'll call me what I tell you to call me."

"Can't call you anything if my mouth's full."

"You always going to be like this? Taking liberties?"

"So don't you want me taking them to benefit you?"

"We're going to talk about this."

Jim hums his agreement, would have done anything in that moment, opens his mouth and actually sighs in contentment when Bones takes hold of his cock to feed it between Jim's lips. It's fat and hard, pressing down on his tongue, and Jim sucks wetly, pushing forward to take more.

"You really do like this." Bones sounds gratifyingly awestruck, and Jim isn't much better, unable to help the soft noises he makes deep in his throat. The hot, heavy weight in his mouth, the sudden descent into intimacy, the lax floating feeling in his mind as he submits. It's perfect.

And it's on his terms. Jim knows what's likely to happen to him if he goes out there without anybody to protect him. He's always been willing to use his body to get what he wants. This is better than anything he could have hoped for.

"You gunna let me come down your throat, darlin'?"

Jim whimpers, looks up, nods, keeps his eyes there as he breathes in, then takes Bones' cock deep and swallows around it.

"Fuck. Oh, I'm gunna like having you around."

 _You have no idea,_ Jim thinks, pulls back to breathe, just a little, grateful that Bones' hand in his hair allows him that, and sinks down again, relishing the stretch, the fullness, the tiny shifts of Bones' hips that make him take that cock a fraction deeper. He's so hard, himself, so sensitive it's almost painful, but when he reaches for it to just relieve the worst of the pressure, Bones yanks again at his hair, pulls him back.

"Don't. If you're mine, you come only at my hand, understand?"

Hearing those words, in that tone of voice, it's difficult not to just come there and then. Somehow, breathing through the ache of unfulfilled arousal and the desperate, pleading despair, Jim nods.

"Good boy."

Jim's eyes flutter closed as that cock is once more pressed between his lips, slowly easing inside of him. He feels light-headed and floating, barely remembers to breathe, just a vessel for Bones' pleasure with no need to seek his own release.

He achieves his goal. Bones comes down his throat with a groan, pulls back only enough to let him breathe, to paint Jim's tongue with a final weak spurt. Jim swallows. He's sure his expression is rapturous, sees no reason to hide it. Bones tastes good, like everything he's been craving, heat and danger and affection all mixed up in a mess that they need to talk about, but not yet. Not yet.

"Beautiful thing." Bones' words, or the press of his thumb against Jim's bottom lip, make him shiver. He licks delicately, then sucks. It probably says something about him, how comforting he finds it. "Come on, sweetheart. Bedtime."

Jim almost sobs. Bones is really going to leave him, hard and aching, even with how good he's been? His brain's still feeling a little sluggish, without the cleansing completion of being allowed to come but Bones hauls him to his feet, helps him slip out of his jumpsuit, exchange it for a blanket from the replicator unit on the wall, does the same for himself and eases them down onto the same bunk. He's warm, and solid, and he holds Jim close, helps him drink a cup of water, brings him back from the edge until he stops trembling, and he can think again.

"Oh, wow," he pants, when he feels like he can do it without his voice shaking, still breathless. "Is this how you finished off all your previous cellmates? Perpetual blue balls?"

Bones rumbles a deep, resonant laugh in his ear. "I have never done this with any of my other cellmates. And waiting won't hurt you. Disobeying me might."

Jim could object a little more but that voice is very soothing, despite the words themselves. He's asleep in the arms of a man who is practically a stranger before he can consider what a bad idea that is.

-

When he wakes up, he's alone- in his bunk, not his cell, as though that would even be possible. He's uninjured, surprisingly well-rested and desperately hard. It's less romantic in the stark, artificial light of what passes for morning and he lifts his blanket to look down at himself ruefully. His libido has always been his greatest nemesis.

Across the cell, Bones is sat up in his bunk, idly scrolling through his padd. He's so gorgeous. And he didn't kill Jim in his sleep. Jim guesses that means their little arrangement is working out, so far.

"What're we gonna do today, Bones?" he asks, and receives a half-hearted glare for his trouble.

"You can't call me that, out there."

It makes Jim smile. "But in here?"

He gets no reply. His smile doesn't fade until they step out that door and rejoin the general population for breakfast.

-

It's a few days before he has to step out from behind Bones. Jim's been trailing him, learning the routine, keeping out of trouble.

But one day, Pike is elsewhere. Visitors' hours, Bones, says, but who the hell would come out to their God-forsaken planet to visit him, he doesn't know. Sulu is trying to run his crew on work detail, but he's got to keep his head down, too, not exempt from the expectations of the guards. He can't be everywhere at once, and by the time he gets a chance to see what a group of them have been doing, their section of the field is a real mess. They haven't been burying deep enough and with the blazing sun, all the plants will die.

He has to tell the crew to plant them again, but he doesn't have the natural authority of Pike, and he's vastly outnumbered.

Jim should look to Bones first, but he doesn't. He's too caught up in memories, of fields grown dry and desolate, of the hunger pains and the crying of children as they barely survive on what little food their parents had left.

"He's right," he says, and there is not a single set of eyes that doesn't turn to him. He's used to that. "They'll die like that. This place is bad enough already, you want to starve to death, too?"

"The strongest will still get fed," one human challenges him, squares up to him, and they're on the ground with their nose broken before they get a chance to follow up on any of it.

"Well that rules you out, doesn't it? Sorry a little hard work's gonna mess up your manicure. Nice desk job you had before this, huh?"

Jim has nothing against those with desk jobs. They're far better at running the 'fleet than he ever would be. But those skills aren't exactly useful here, and he has to play with what he's got.

"Anybody else?" he asks, louder, and he sees a few of them consider it until Bones steps up beside him. It's a little emasculating. Jim's okay with that. He's kind of aware he's just painted a huge target on his own back, that he's stepped out into a spotlight he might not be able to escape, now.

While the crew return to their work, Jim meets Sulu's eyes and receives a begrudging nod. Jim gives him a grim smile in return. He didn't do it for him. They can only do so much as separate factions.

"Thanks," Jim says to Bones, next, who shrugs.

"Better than starving to death, farm boy."

Jim gets a new nickname at that moment. It's arguably better than Organ Donor.

-

He tells himself he won't get involved in any cross-faction disputes after that. Bones hasn't said anything to him about it, but he's spent the last couple of nights on his knees, as promised, and still not been allowed any relief, so he feels like he's being punished for something. Or tested, in some way, but he has no idea if he's failing or just not finished yet.

Except he can't stop himself from intervening when he comes across eight men attempting to drag the Navigator into the deserted showers. He doesn't know what they have planned, and he still hasn't learned the kid's name, but he breaks three limbs and slams one guy into a wall for him so he can get himself free.

"What are you doing?" he's amazed it's the Navigator who asks, splayed as he is on the floor, bleeding and incredulous. He's Russian. Jim hadn't realised, hasn't heard him speak before. "Those are your Doctor's men."

Jim casts a glance over the one man who is attempting to crawl out of the room on his broken leg. "I have to say, I don't think he'd approve of this."

"It is not up to him. I should have been more careful."

"Everybody makes mistakes."

The Navigator snorts, gives him a significant look as he stands, brushes himself off. "Yes, they do."

He shoves past Jim on his way out, even though he's not really in the way. 

Jim rolls his eyes, sighs, and goes to find Bones.

He finds him out in the main common area, standing over the man with the broken leg, beside one with a broken arm, listening to some very animated accounts of the sequence of events.

A very displeased brow is arched in Jim's direction, although Bones hasn't yet actually set about fixing any of the injuries. "Was this necessary?"

"They could have run after I broke the first one." Jim shrugs, with more confidence than he feels, and certainly more bravado than sense. He lifts his chin when Bones narrows his eyes, doesn't back down when various accusations are slung in his direction.

"Who was the first one?" Bones asks, and Jim doesn't have much of a choice but to answer, to make this as easy on himself as possible. It's not like any of the men involved deserve his protection. 

He looks around, sees him, cradling his arm against his chest. "There. Dark hair, talking to the Klingon."

"How many of them were there?"

"Eight."

"Six," one of the men beside them corrects, and Jim glares at him.

"Eight," he confirms.

"Not good odds, boys," Bones shrugs.

"They didn't think you'd believe them over your pet farm boy."

Jim rolls his eyes. He needs a better nickname.

"Oh, I don't. It'll cost you thirty credits a limb."

"Going rate is twenty!"

"Oh, sure, why don't you try asking the only other guy in here who might consider fixing you up." Bones nods in the direction of Scotty, who is silently, palpably fuming, arms folded, glowering at them.  "Thirty. Or die of sepsis. Makes no difference to me. I told you to leave the kid alone."

"He was asking for it," one of the men mutters, as he reaches begrudgingly for his credit chip.

"Forty." Bones replies, with a grim smile when it looks like the man will say more.

"I'll pay you a hundred to make it fifty," Scotty shouts over, too, although how the hell he heard any of that exchange is beyond Jim.

"Well that's just good business sense." Bones shrugs, all faux-apologetic as his customers fume, but don't dare speak. Jim is stood there, heart pounding. What the hell has he got himself involved in? These men are going to be out for his blood as it is. Fifty replicator credits is a month's worth, is what the inmates use to buy their soap, both padds and the content for them, candy bars and cigarettes. He's just deprived them of that, and he's under no false impressions about what's likely to happen to him. 

Except Bones looks unconcerned, just vaguely amused by the whole thing. When Jim looks more closely, there are plenty of people standing around watching, waiting, carrying tension, but on closer inspection very few of them are looking to him. Scotty's faction and a large number of Bones', too, look like they're out for blood, and when the two men slope away, limbs healed with an osteo-regen Bones has procured from who-knows-where, the attention follows them.

Scotty strolls over to make his own transfer to Bones' account, then, gives Jim a nod and claps him on the back. Jim smiles weakly back. He's in way over his head.

-

"Plenty of the population in here have kids of their own. They don't like to see Chekov hurt," Bones explains, that night, as he peruses the new content on his padd that he's been able to purchase with his collected credits. One more of the men involved approached him later to request his arm be fixed, too, probably aware of the tense atmosphere and more willing to pay than to risk being unable to defend himself when the time came.

Jim scans his own chip against the replicator himself, in need of some sugar, or- "Uhh-"

"How much d'you get?"

"I- I didn't even-"

"Doesn't matter. He got close enough to touch you. You didn't think he'd let you go unrewarded, did you?"

"I kind of just thought he'd let me go un-harrassed for a while," Jim says. He feels a little dazed. He has five hundred credits in his account. Well, five hundred and six, including what he had, two for each day of work he's completed. And apparently the rest is for preventing an assault.

"I told you. There's only a few people you need to worry about in here."

"I didn't do it for a reward!"

"Well, he doesn't want it back. So you might as well do something useful with it."

"How are you so relaxed about this!" Jim whirls to face him, throws his hands up, the cumulative tension of the day finally getting to him. "I nearly got killed about four times today. I broke three arms. I walked in on- whatever the fuck they were going to do to that poor kid! And you just sit there, happy because you extorted another week's worth of medical journals out of injured human beings."

Bones' expression is unreadable, his movements slow, deliberate, when he sets his padd aside without breaking eye contact with Jim, and then sits up. He sets his feet on the floor, a fair distance apart, and then points to the floor between them.

With an incoherent, whining noise of objection, Jim does as he's told. Kneels right there on the hard stone floor, his cock already hardening traitorously against the scratchy inside of his jumpsuit. When he goes to lean in, Bones sets a hand on his head, guides him sideways a little, so his head is cushioned on a thick, solid thigh, Bones' fingers brushing through his hair. 

"You're new here. It's been three days. I've been here close to three years. It's- something you just get used to. Surviving."

It's too soon to say what Jim feels for this vicious, confusing man, but his heart squeezes with something. With a deep breath, he relaxes, sagging, letting that tension go. His eyes flutter closed at the feeling of fingernails scratching gently at his scalp. "I thought you'd be mad."

"Shit happens. I'd rather have eight idiots complaining than Scotty on the warpath. And I'd rather have you than somebody who would have let them hurt Chekov for the sake of politics."

Jim looks up at him, then, smiling like he's discovered a well-kept secret. "You're a good person, aren't you?"

Bones gives him a tiny, indulgent smile, and sighs. "I used to be."

He lets Jim kneel there with his cheek pressed against the warmth beneath coarse fabric for as long as he needs, just running fingers through his hair. And when Jim shifts, leaning in, nosing at the bulge of his cock, he unfastens his jumpsuit.

-

Every day after breakfast, they're allowed free time. Most inmates use it to exercise. There's a yard, of sorts, a vast underground space with only one door. It makes Jim deeply anxious, just being in it, conjuring up images of the barely-navigable caverns of Tarsus IV, the collapsed tunnels, the rockslides that claimed so many lives. He shudders once, every time he walks through the doorway, then pushes it down. 

Always one step behind Bones, he used to be basically invisible. The others looked at him with barely concealed amusement, like he was some sort of lap dog. It gave him the space to observe and think. Now they watch him with wary eyes, or they don't look his way at all. He's not sure it's an improvement.

Today, some of the inmates are playing a game of soccer. It's brutal, nobody calling anyone else on violent fouls except by way of escalating retribution. Both Chekov and Sulu are taking bets on the outcome. They discuss odds and the game itself, keeping a respectful distance from one another. From a distance, both Pike and Scotty watch the exchanges. It's interesting, that the gambling takes priority over the entrenched conflict. But then, Jim supposes, the same had happened the previous day, when Bones and Scotty had come to an agreement over those men.

A few people approach Bones, although they, too, remain at a distance until he nods to allow them closer. They make deals, exchange what they have -replicator credits, generally- for what seem to be prescription painkillers, sleeping tablets and psychotropics. Jim shouldn't be surprised, really.

He is surprised by the furtive approach of one Andorian who makes conversation in tones that cannot be overheard, pressing too close into Bones' personal space. Jim almost moves to intervene but Bones holds up a hand to halt him, listening carefully. If Jim weren't so close, he would have missed it, the exchange of replicator credits, the glances Bones shoots in the direction of Pike, Scotty and Spock in turn, all of them indicating some sort of agreement without appearing to look at him or letting on that any interaction has actually taken place.

He's too confused to react immediately, but he doesn't need to. The Andorian raises his voice, attempts to attack with some sort of crafted blade that's turned on him before he can cause any injury.

Bones stabs him six times with his own blade without a word and then jerks his head for Jim to follow him as he walks away, leaving his would-be customer bleeding out on the stone floor.

It all happens so quickly that Jim can do nothing but leap to follow, shocked and horrified, throwing glances back to see the entrance of automated bots, who scoop the Andorian onto a stretcher and take him away.

"What the hell?" he asks, when they're far enough away from other inmates not to risk being overheard. They're keeping a wide berth, unsurprisingly.

"I don't negotiate on prices," Bones says, but his eyes say more than that. They promise more, later. Jim has to trust him. What choice does he have?

-

"If I wanted to kill someone," Bones says, later, as he strips out of his jumpsuit, encrusted as it is with dried blue blood, exchanging it for a blanket he ties roughly around his waist. He grimaces and attempts to scrub the blood encrusted in his nail beds at their tiny sink. "It wouldn't take me six tries."

Jim hates that it makes a twisted kind of sense. "So- you wanted him to suffer?"

"I wanted to give him what he paid for, which was a week in the infirmary, and the possibility of a transfer to another facility."

Realisation dawns. The exchange of credits, the permission Bones sought at the time from anyone who might have been invested in that inmate's continued presence. "Won't you get- punished, for that?"

"What are they going to do, extend my sentence for another lifetime?"

"They could put you in solitary."

"And what, leave a fourth of the population without anyone to keep them in check? You're new here. But I know how this place works. I know how to make it work."

"What did you do?" Jim had to ask, can't help himself anymore, because he respects this man, wants to like him, but something has gone so wrong to make him into this grotesque caricature of a leader. He needs to understand. Has to know what he's getting into, because he's been through a lot but he's never lost a part of himself, like this.

Bones just steps up, meets his eyes, then looks pointedly at the ground, at his feet. Jim sighs, and sinks to his knees.

-

"I killed my wife." Bones says, later, when Jim's been denied the privilege of coming again, has had to be gently eased back from the edge, trembling and wondering when it will all end. He's going to snap, or he's going to come, and he doesn't want to think about what his punishment might be. At that moment, though, he's warm and comfortable, the urgency abated, half laid across Bones' chest.

"What?"

"I came home from work, after a double shift. And my daughter was downstairs, crying. She was only tiny. She didn't understand why nobody had heard her. Why nobody was coming. I didn't either, until I went upstairs and found my wife in bed with one of my friends. I don't even- remember. Just flashes. Blood. I put my hand over her mouth to stop her screaming. The cops nearly shot me because I wouldn't let go of the knife, my fist was so tightly clenched around the handle."

Jim shouldn't want to comfort him. He should run or fight to get away. But his instincts tell him to stay.

"I stole a ship," he says, instead, and Bones blinks himself out of old, worn memories to look at him in confusion.

"Like a- shuttle?"

"The USS Narbonne."

"Why?"

"Because I needed it. And because thousands of people would have died if I didn't."

"And they put you in prison for it?"

"I ran, after. And it's- difficult to prove that you killed fewer people than the alternative would have."

"How many?"

Jim goes through their names in his head. He knows them. Can picture their faces. He knows how many of them there are. He can never forget. "Eight."

"I'm sorry."

Jim presses closer, buries his face in the warm body so close to his, the closest thing to a friend he has. "Me too."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to skip the (admittedly brief and fictionalised) enema part, maybe just start like, 8 paragraphs into this chapter!

The next night, when they get to their cell, Bones hands him a couple of pills. Jim swallows them before he asks what they are.

In answer, Bones just mimes checking a watch he's not wearing, then looks at him expectantly until, with a gasp, Jim clutches his stomach. "Oh, God, I hate you."

"I'll make it worth your while."

Jim spends the following ten minutes dealing with the after-effects of orally administered enema pills, doubled over with the uncomfortable fullness in his stomach, and then the horrible, vulnerable rush of fluids passing through his system. At least Bones has enough replicator credits for the quilted toilet paper, and he hands it over with an unrepentant smile while Jim glares up at him. He does stand there, though, and pets his hair while Jim leans his face against his stomach, panting. There's so much liquid, and it's expanded in his stomach to pass through his system, neutralising all solid matter, so it's not quite as terrible as it could be. He's only passing an odourless fluid. Jim still doesn't enjoy it.

"You could have warned me," he breathes, once he feels like his body is no longer attempting to turn inside out.

"Better to just get it over with." Bones' fingers drift down, tracing Jim's brow, the line of his cheekbone, the edge of his jaw, Bones all the while staring down at him like he's something worth savouring, even sat on the toilet as he is, already naked.

He does feel lighter, cleaner, once it's done. And kind of empty. With a pitiful pleading noise, he presses his lips to Bones' fabric-covered stomach, looking up at him. Jim's already half-hard, feeling exposed and vulnerable and wanting to turn it into something he can enjoy.

"Clean up, sweetheart. Then come join me on the bed." Bones says, and gives him a few moments of what passes for privacy in their shared space. They could almost be lovers in the real world, with the way he's talking, and he welcomes Jim with a smile when he deposits himself in Bones' lap, already working at the fastenings of Bones' jumpsuit.

"Can I- kiss you?" Jim asks, because so far he's had his lips pressed against every other part of the body beneath him, but they haven't done that.

"I'd like that." Bones shrugs out of the sleeves of his jumpsuit before he sets his hands to Jim's body, drawing him in by his thighs, his waist, his shoulders to not just kiss him but to consume him completely. With his tongue in Jim's mouth, Bones rolls their hips together, delicious sparks of friction shooting up Jim's spine, pulling soft, whimpering sounds from his throat. Bones hauls him close, then holds him still, stalling the pleasurable slide of Jim's cock against his stomach.

"You're so fucking cruel," Jim whines, into his mouth, receives only rumbling laugher in reply, more heated kisses. God, he wants this man. "There better be lube in that replicator."

"I have my own, darlin', don't you worry. Nothing's gonna stop me from getting inside of you tonight."

"May I- God, are you gonna let me come? Please, Bones? You feel so good. It's been so long."

"It's been less than a week."

Jim nearly sobs. He wants to mewl pathetically, to beg and plead. He feels like he could go off at any moment, is actually having to make a conscious effort not to chase the desire to come, not to grind helplessly in search of any possible source of friction. He's trying so hard to be good, really he is. He wants to be good, but fuck, it's hard. "Please."

"Not just yet." But Bones is undressing, lifting his hips just enough to kick his jumpsuit off and the warm expanse of skin pressed to Jim's is glorious. The brush of his cock, hot and hard, makes Jim want to rut against him. "Lift up a little, darlin'- there's a good boy."

Jim's legs are already trembling when he does, and the touch of lube-slick fingers behind his balls, sure and steady, makes him clutch at Bones' shoulders. His nails have to be digging in, but Bones just rubs, coating the skin before pressing one finger inside. He's so gentle, with those hands that have supposedly taken a life, every instant of pain intentional and calculated. Jim's cock is so hard, leaking so much he's dripping with it, and he bears down, needing more even as he balances on that knife edge of arousal.

"Jim." Bones' voice makes him open his eyes and focus. He hadn't realised he'd closed them, blinks to meet intent, dark eyes. "You get through this. You wait 'til my cock's inside you. And you don't touch yourself, you understand? You do all those things, and you can come whenever you want."

"I- can't. I've never-"

"Then you can wait until tomorrow."

Jim nearly sobs. "You're gonna kill me."

"Relax. I'm a doctor."

Jim's dark look is broken by the sudden, intense stretch of two fingers pushing inexorably into his hole. It's too much, and not enough, and he has no idea how he can feel so close to coming and yet so far away from it at the same time. He's tried to say it, that he'd never been able to come solely from the stimulation of penetration, but it seems impossible that he won't, after waiting for so long and being put through so much. 

"Breathe, darlin'."

It seems like ridiculous advice, but Jim realises abruptly that he hasn't been. He takes a few deep breaths, lets his body drift back from the edge, eases the tension in his limbs. He must be a mess, sweating and flushed and shaking, but Bones is looking at him like he holds the answers to the universe. Jim's heart does that squeezing thing again. If he didn't know better, he might think he was overexerting himself.

"You want three? Or you want to sit on my cock?"

"Oh, fuck. Swear I could come just from the sound of your voice."

"Don't tempt me. I'll test that." Bones threatens, but he's got one hand on Jim's hip and the other wrapped around the base of his own cock, guiding it to where it needs to be. Jim's splitting open around him, the stretch just the wrong side of too much. It hurts, but it feels so fucking good, knowing what's happening, what they're doing, that it's the glorious, purpling head he's had resting on his tongue so often that's forcing his body to part around it.

"Fuck, B'nes, please."

"So good for me. Lift up, just a little, come on."

Mindlessly, Jim obeys, finds the strength to do as he'd told even though his legs are aching and trembling. He whimpers as the movement makes Bones' cock slip free and meets the clumsy kisses he's earned. Somehow Bones has retained the presence of mind to apply more lube, to caress gently at Jim's aching hole, spreading it around, coaxing the muscle to relax a little more.

When he guides Jim back down again, he slides right in. Jim could cry at how easy it is, the rough friction where he's burningly sensitive, the simultaneous relief and pressure because he can come now, he's allowed, and he's been so good, waiting for this moment. He's had to be eased back from the edge so many times, and he feels every moment of that delay in every single fragment of his being. He rolls his hips experimentally, makes Bones hiss through his teeth and meets his eyes to smile, triumphant. Every single involuntary reaction he pulls from this tightly controlled man is a singular victory.

He has to clench his hands into fists to stop from touching himself, wanting so desperately to lay a hand on his cock. He's so close, so hard, and everything he feels is good. Bones holds his hips and leans in for soft, sweet kisses and they're in prison; he's apparently a murderer but his lips are so soft, his touch firm but gentle, his eyes full of helpless desire, yes, but also affection. He rocks into Jim's grinding, shoves his cock deeper, brings just the beginning of that deep, intimate pressure against his prostate.

"Lean back a little, that's it. Good boy. Right there, just like-" Bones stops when Jim cries out, sparks exploding across his vision and pleasurable sensation cascading through his whole body from that single point. "That's it. You want it there. You're so beautifully sensitive, how has nobody taken the time to do this, to see you like this-"

Jim loves the rambling praise, that voice, low and sweet, the vibrant, electric pulses of pleasure that work to render him senseless, that make him whimper and keen. Nothing else matters, the rest of the world wiped away in that moment. His breathing is ragged with hitching, helpless sobs, the pleas he can't coherently voice. And through it all, Bones is calm, somehow, like he has no pleasure of his own to chase, like it's all he wants to see Jim fall apart, like his cock isn't buried balls-deep inside him.

"I can't."

"You can, darlin'." Bones cradles his face, smearing lube across his cheek but ignoring that, drawing him in for harsher, biting kisses as he keeps up the idle rolling of his hips, the soft caress of his cock right through Jim's sensitive opening, against his more sensitive insides. "You can and you will. You're gonna come just like this, wrapped tight around my cock, riding it like the gorgeous slut I know you are."

Jim's movement stutters, breaking their rhythm, the last thing he needs and he whines, frustrated, beyond words, beyond anything but the need to come. It all feels so good that it hurts, but it's not enough, or it's too much. There are tears in his eyes. He doesn't know if he'll come or cry, first.

"You want me to call you names, sweetheart? Or tell you how sweet you are, how good you've been, waiting so long for me? Sucking my cock every night like having me fuck your throat wasn't nearly enough to get you off? Surprised you didn't cream your pants right then, you love it so much."

Jim's teetering on the edge, vision blurred, breath coming in harsh pants and moans, spurred on by that voice as that thick cock splits him open, spreads him wide. Jim's not allowed to touch his cock, he knows, but he reaches back to spread his ass cheeks wide, to sink into the stretch, the pain-

"Oh, that's what you need. I been too soft with you, sweetheart? Come on, then." And Bones clenches a fist in Jim's hair, drags him down and fucks up into him, hard. Jim cries out, grinds down, pulls against the hold with no desire to escape from it. It's exactly what he needs, so much sensation he doesn't have time to think, can't come up with a reason not to ride Bones' cock, single-minded and unashamed. He's aware, only vaguely, of the sounds and words of encouragement, the countless pinpricks of pain at his scalp, the burn where his hole is being stretched wide, the heightening of everything when Bones clenches harder with one fist and reaches down with the other hand to trace that raw, taut muscle where it's clutching hot and tight around his cock.

Not tight enough, though. When Bones next thrusts upwards, just as Jim sinks down, he pushes, forces one of his fingers in alongside his cock, and it's that burning, blissful, all-encompassing stretch that finally, finally shoves Jim over that precipice, makes him keen and writhe, into and away from what should be too much.

It doesn't feel like coming, it feels like completion, overwhelming and everywhere, endlessly. 

"You're so good, well done, sweetheart," Bones tells him too, makes him shudder and clench and recall himself, blinking to see the mess he's made, to feel the empty ache in his balls, the hot friction of Bones still fucking him. He's close, Jim can see it in his eyes, and he helps all he can while his body still responds sluggishly to his commands. He squeezes, bears down, makes soft, breathy sounds of encouragement as aftershocks make his body tremble until Bones is burying deep with a snarl and filling him with his come in thick, deep waves.

"Holy shit," Jim pants, breathlessly, leaning his forehead against Bones', increasingly conscious as his mind clears that they're both sweating and covered in his come. Bones looks good like that, flushed and messy, the smattering of hair on his chest damp and dark. "Prison sex is awesome."

Bones muffles a ridiculous snorting laugh in Jim's throat and it's the best thing he's ever heard.

-

Jim is somehow alarmed but not surprised to find himself dragged from his bed in the middle of the night. He's not gagged but he knows better than to shout, and he instinctively goes along with it instead of resisting. He recognises the hands that are on him. There are no lights on anywhere, and he has no idea how anybody got their cell door open but questioning it will get him nowhere. He just stumbles blindly, hoping that somebody knows and cares enough to stop him from walking right into a wall.

There are classrooms in one wing of the prison, so that something resembling rehabilitation can appear to be happening, and within one, there is a light on. He squints in the sudden brightness, contemplates stopping so Bones has to walk right into his back or stop himself, but he's neatly side-stepped and pulled by his elbow towards one corner of the room. There are no chairs or desks in the room, just a projector attached to the ceiling and speakers embedded in the walls, which are painted a pale yellow. Jim's never been in there before, hasn't yet had his mandatory psych assessment to determine his aptitude for whatever skills they pretend to teach.

The other occupants of the room look right at home there. Or as relaxed as they get. All six of them, apparently terrifying and vengeful.

"Didn't think you'd bring him." Scotty says to Bones, who half-heartedly glares back.

"He's fine."

Scotty's answering leer of agreement only earns an unimpressed glare from Bones and an eye-roll from Chekov, who nods a surprisingly friendly greeting in Jim's direction, too.

"You have developed an attachment to him remarkably quickly," Spock comments too, though, and Jim realises with a start it's the first time he's even heard him speak.

"What can I say, we're soulmates."

"The existence of such a concept-"

"Spock. That was a joke. I just like him. And I can't face arguing your particular brand of logic at this ungodly hour of the morning, so will you just can it, please?"

"If by 'can', you mean preserve for later."

There's a pause, before every occupant of the room aside from Jim makes their own startled sound of laughter.

"Good Lord, he does have a sense of humour." Bones regains his composure first.

"I tried to tell you." Pike shrugs, then, too. He looks entirely different when he smiles, genuine and warm instead of stern, imperious and commanding. He winks at Spock, who gives him what passes for an amused nod, no difference in his facial expression except something of a lightening in and around his eyes.

"Oh my God you lied to me," Jim breathes, and he's staring at Bones while also trying to take in everyone else. Everyone else who has been described to him as some sort of fierce rival for power, when it's suddenly so apparent they're all in it together. They're performing, creating tension among the ranks as artfully as any prison governor in order to maintain control. Jim doesn't know if he's impressed or appalled.

"Of course I did, I barely know you."

Jim veers towards appalled in the first instance before it really hits him, the risk Bones has taken in exposing him to it all now. How readily they've all trusted him to be a part of this. He could do so much harm to them and their efforts to survive and -Jim wants to believe- help those who are imprisoned here, at least a little. "But you're telling me now."

Bones shrugs, and if he looks a little uncomfortable, a little uneasy, it's just a sign of how much he trusts everyone in the room. He can hide it, Jim knows, but he chooses not to in that moment. "I want you to be a part of it. We're- not really capable of doing good, here, but I think we keep this place from being any worse than it has to be."

As the last person who needs to be reminded of how bad it could have been for him, had things been just slightly different, Jim nods. He steps up and takes his place at Bones' side. It's a gesture largely symbolic at this stage, but it makes Bones smile and reach out to just brush a gentle touch against the small of his back.

With everything settled, or as close to that as it can ever hope to be, it's Uhura who steps up towards the middle of the room. "I intercepted a communication that led me to believe that there were some- unethical practices occurring among the staff here. I had hoped to find blackmail evidence by pursuing them, but- well. One of Chris' contacts was able to get hold of a recording for me and I stopped listening when I realised what it contained. It's probably relevant to all of us."

She nods in Scotty's direction, and he says, "Computer, play the queued recording."

There's the garbled mess of sound that Jim knows signifies an encrypted recording, but it fades into clearer voices.

_"Oh, sure. We'll just hire a few more competent law enforcement types who want to live on that shithole of a planet for months at a time for the wage the 'fleet's willing to pay. There's plenty of those."_

_"Well, alright. So what do you do?"_

_"What do you think we do? Same as they do in every other prison. Let the inmates govern themselves. Give them some powerful criminal types to look up to. Ones with enough of an ego to accept what they feel like they're due."_

_"So, what? You go picking your criminals as they come in?"_

_"Oh. No. That would take forever. Do you have any idea how few murderers and street robbers and rapists actually have a clue what the fuck they're doing? No, we pick the people we want, and then we make the crime fit them. Maybe they've got some friends or colleagues or family members who want them gone. Make a little money, put 'em away, do the 'fleet a favour by making sure nobody's challenging what they've built."_

Jim feels like he's stabbed in the heart. Could they really be saying what he thinks they're saying? That some or all of the other people in this room have been imprisoned for crimes they didn't commit?

He doesn't know how to feel about his place in all that. He's done what they convicted him for, there's no doubt about it. To know that he might be the only one in the room responsible for the deaths of others- well, it's selfish to mourn the loss of those he thought he could relate to, in the face of the bigger picture. Doesn't mean he doesn't feel that additional stab of regret.

_"So who'd you get?"_

_"We got Spock, first. That guy is a psychopath as it is, we did the world a favour when we convinced him and them he'd killed those doctors. Just some tricky work with some holograms and hallucinogenics. He'd already done the hard part when he checked himself into that mental hospital. He walked out- which as a self-admitted patient he had the right to. The security cam showed- not that. And three of the staff got a long holiday to the depths of the Orion system with some new passports."_

Jim can see the grief, the guilt, the regret in the features of the usually unreadable Spock. Jim has no idea how long he's been imprisoned, but for him to have believed, for so long, that he was responsible for murders he didn't commit- it's unimaginable. So much of his life has been wasted in grieving for those who never suffered. Uhura places a hand on his shoulder, but she's not holding it together much better than any of the rest of them.

_"But then, nobody actually really liked him. We needed someone to mellow him out a bit. You know. Someone hot. All we had to do was plant some fake recording of Romulans threatening war, and she fell for it. Got half the fleet assembled in the asshole of space, waiting for an assault that never happened. Billions of credits worth of dilithium, wasted. Her reputation ruined. Few crew members died in scraps with, you know, actual Romulans."_

Uhura has tears dripping silently down her face, but she's still saying nothing. The rest of them are looking at Spock expectantly, waiting for him to comfort her, to offer something, anything, but he's still staring off into space. In the end, it's Pike who steps up to enclose her in his arms, to hold her as she sobs. He rests his cheek on the top of her head, sad and thoughtful. Jim wonders if he was there, at this fake assault.

_"Except it turns out it's not enough to have one weird couple managing everything. But then that mad Scotsman disappeared the Admiral's beagle and I thought- well, why not? Made it look like he disappeared the Admiral and his adorable daughter, too."_

Scotty has his arms folded, and he's standing tall, but there's a muscle in his jaw twitching, something vulnerable in his eyes.

_"So you sent them out to Orion too?"_

_"Nah. They'd never have kept their mouths shut. We just transported them out into Klingon space somewhere. We'll all be dead by the time anyone finds them."_

Scotty's eyes slide shut. He lifts a hand to pet Chekov's curly head when he steps closer to press their shoulders together, apparently all the affection they're willing to display.

_"Sulu wasn't quite as successful as we thought he'd be. He's good, but he doesn't have that charisma, you know? Won't get people to blindly follow him. It wasn't hard to stage a robbery on his way back from his fencing club. Two doped-up wastes of space left with fatal stab wounds, their families sent a little care package as incentive not to ask too many questions. Two birds, one stone. Or sword. What do they call 'em? Rapier."_

Sulu looks furious. He paces, a little, visibly holds himself back from punching the stone wall, is steadied only by Pike's hand on his shoulder and a look Jim can't see. He still shakes his head, clenches his fists, but he stays silent and listens, because even after all that, there's more.

_"Really thought the sweet little one would go for him, you know? He got locked up long before we got our hands on him but turns out it was his father framing him for some treason and spywork he'd been doing on the sly. And then he escaped from three juvenile facilities, and they started looking for a more secure one to put him in. I was more than happy to offer. He hooked up with his daddy and the rest is history."_

Chekov barely reacts, just rolling his eyes at the phrasing and leaning closer to offer Scotty what comfort he can. It makes Jim realise with a start that whether he committed the original crime or not, his escapes have left him with a sentence that he's genuinely earned. He knows he didn't do the spying, so none of this is particularly news to him. But he's so fucking young, to have the rest of his life decided for him in such a way.

_"And Pike. Starfleet's golden boy. They loved him. Couldn't believe it when we had a chance to get him, when he upset just one too many Admirals to be allowed to continue. Too good for his own good. We framed him for a bunch of extortion offences, some sex trafficking from when he rescued a barge of slaver cargo. Wasn't hard. He didn't cover his own tracks well enough to give himself an alibi. Had to reassign some of his crew. Think his First Officer ended up scrubbing toilets on a hospital satellite because she wouldn't keep her trap shut about how unfair it all was."_

That's the only part that gets a visible reaction out of Pike. He's still holding Uhura, but his eyes blaze with suppressed emotion. 

_"We earned a decent sum for the good doctor, too. His own hospital super called me up himself, asked if I'd help get him out of there. He wanted to promote his own son to follow him, but he couldn't do it while McCoy was showing him up."_

Jim starts, because it's the first time he's actually heard Bones' name. Neither of them had asked, or offered their own. He doesn't quite dare touch, in that moment, so much contained in Bones' forced stillness that he's unwilling to shatter what little control he has a fragile grasp on. 

_"I mean his wife was already fucking around on him. With that same son. He'd been working fourteen hours straight and we'd made sure the baby was screaming, you know, just a few little pinches to get it going. All we had to do was put the knife within easy reach."_

Bones covers his face but Jim has already seen the tears there.

_"And he still wouldn't do it, can you believe that! Pulled the plug on his own dad and wouldn't give his wife what for when he caught her fucking around. We just clocked him over the head and left him with the knife in his hand after we'd done the job for him."_

_"And the kid?"  
_

_"The what? Oh, I don't know. Orphanage? We didn't kill it. We're not animals."_

Bones sobs. Jim steps in to lay a hand on his shoulder, to do what little he can to help after such horrible news, but-

_"And the Kirk kid?"_

_"Oh, he did it. Commandeered a starship because he'd heard his planet was running out of food supplies. Killed eight of their officers doing it."_

It's a horrible, vicious summary of what he's done, and Jim's frozen, hand raised, unable to believe he's hearing it summed up so heartlessly. He'd escaped in a stolen shuttle after watching Adrian Kodos and his followers massacre half the population of Tarsus IV, including his aunt and uncle. Nobody had acknowledged their planetary SOS signal, even though the USS Narbonne had been in range. So he'd gone to fetch it himself, to bring that crew back and show them the brutal reality.

There had been engineers working on the outside of the ship when they'd hit warp, Jim too intent on his task to check all the duty rosters, and one more of the security officers he'd had to knock unconscious to get to the bridge had later died of an aneurysm.

He'd run for close to ten years after that, desperately convinced that he could do something to make some small part of it better, and then they'd caught up with him. 

_"Lucky."_

_"Luckier than that. He offered to be our man on the inside, get some real evidence if it would reduce his sentence."_

Jim lets out a wounded, animal sound, because it's not true, they offered him nothing and he wouldn't have taken it if they had. Someone is trying to set him up, had maybe hoped that he would die here on this planet rather than so successfully integrating. Everyone looks to him -vaguely, he realises that they know his name, now- and their expressions are all caught in tableaux of shock, hurt and anger. He doesn't know if it's for what he did, or what he didn't.

Pike speaks first, deceptively calm. "Tarsus Four? That was you?"

Without meeting his eyes, Jim nods. He doesn't dare look up, certainly can't bring himself to see what Bones thinks of it all. He already knew what Jim did, has only what he thinks Jim has done since then to contend with.

"I knew officers from the Narbonne. They were never the same, after that."

"Nobody was."

"How old were you?" 

Jim does look up, then. "Fourteen."

"You did the right thing, son."

"I could have done better."

"We all could." Pike looks around at the others, as though he isn't the best of them, as though he could have anything to compare to what they've all faced.

"I certainly would have done," Scotty agrees, too bitterly, "If I'd know my every move was getting reported back to the bastards that put me here."

"I didn't do that!"

"Bit weird that you'd arrive and suddenly start trying to be everyone's best mate though, isn't it?"

"I didn't. I wouldn't," Jim insists, but he's got nothing but his words and he knows that isn't enough. These people have no reason to believe him, none at all, except for- "Bones. I wouldn't. I swear."

He does look, then, at those eyes that have been so loving, that are red and bloodshot and narrowed in his direction. The whole situation looks terrible, he knows, his willingness to be taught and to accept the necessary price he paid for it. Every question he's ever asked out of curiosity or interest suddenly takes on a potential deeper, darker meaning.

"Bones-" he says, helplessly, once more, to the man turning to face him. It's not the amount of opposition, the fact that he would lose, that stops Jim from fighting, just the deep, visceral knowledge that there's nothing he can possibly say. If Bones doesn't believe him, Jim doesn't blame him. And he won't do anything to stop what has to happen next.

"Close your eyes, darlin'."

Jim sobs, blinks away hot tears to clear his vision, to make sure those beautiful eyes are the last thing he sees before he does as he's told, leaning in and finding himself met halfway in a soft, warm kiss.

It's been a long time since he's been stabbed. It still feels like having the breath punched out of him.

-

Jim is really far too familiar with that feeling of waking up when he hadn't expected to.

"Fuck," he breathes, and sends himself into a coughing fit that conflicts painfully with the urge to smile wider than he has in years.

Because Bones believed him.

He didn't really hurt him. He knows Jim wasn't lying when he said he wouldn't do that. He just did his thing, hurt him just enough to get him sent to the infirmary, to make the governor consider a transfer to another facility.

Jim doesn't think he can stand to leave Bones, but he can't exactly go back there, either. As always, his life is a treacherous path through an junkyard of terrible options.

In the end, his inability to settle on a plan reveals a third option: Stay there and wait to be rescued.

It's hardly the most difficult choice to make. Jim manages to ease himself into a sitting position with a bitten-off scream, his stomach muscles objecting violently to even the slightest exertion, the majority of his weight held by his arms.

"Oh, hey," he says, when he recognises the Andorian staring at him from the next bed in some alarm. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Organ Donor," the Andorian says back, a greeting or a statement or who fucking knows. Jim is light-headed with the pain, and he's attached to some sort of bag thing that's dripping fluids into his arm. Gross. He tears it out. Staggering and stumbling, he makes it across the room to some cupboards and drawers, searches through them with regular breaks to try and clear the haze intruding in his vision. There have to be regens on this planet for Bones to have got his hands on one, even if they generally choose not to use them for their imprisoned patients.

He does find one, and although it's about five generations old it still works well enough to stop the blood still dripping from the puncture wound in his arm. It's a little slow. But if he goes running around as he is, he risks internal bleeding and worse, once Bones gets hold of him. He makes it back to his bed without throwing up, and sets the thing to work, too light-headed from the pain to hear the footsteps approaching and too close to passing out to do anything but look up when he's approached.

Doubled over as he is, he takes in the boots first, then the pants, the yellow shirt it sort of hurts to look at, then- "Holy shit."

"New uniforms. Eye-catching, aren't they?" Captain Pike smiles at him. He's authoritative and standing tall, clean-shaven and somehow still irrepressibly warm.

Jim just grimaces in reply. It feels like his stomach is itching on the inside. Like he's swallowed shards of glass mixed with battery acid. He has no idea what any of this means for him. "How long- have I been here?"

"Two days. It was probably best you were out of the way while we worked everything out."

"You worked- what?"

"We. Worked everything out. Some of it's still in progress, but with that recording and some other evidence, I've been reinstated."

"It's not just dress-down Friday?"

Pike laughs. He looks so different. Freer, lighter. Jim tries to feel happy for him.

"They're transferring the management of this facility back to Starfleet, for the time being. All cases are being reassessed. Including yours."

Jim snorts, and then groans because that really fucking hurts. "I did what they said."

"You prevented complete genocide, and ensured the perpetrator was brought to justice. At fourteen. And you've done much more since. I've requested to have you released. And Starfleet have agreed- as long as you comply with the terms of your probation."

"Probation?"

"Transport on a Starfleet vessel with your movements restricted and supervised. Then four years' residence, and attendance, at Starfleet Academy. You stay out of trouble, you could be an officer by then."

"So- trading one prison cell for another?" It's probably unfair, Jim knows. Nobody had to go to any effort at all, for him, and yet Captain Pike, who has a life of his own to get back to after so many years, has campaigned on his behalf, probably against some fierce opposition. Having known officers on the Narbonne who lost colleagues and friends because of what Jim did. 

"It's a prison cell with outdoor space, private bathrooms and a fully-stocked bar."

"Then I guess I owe you a drink."

"So you'll do it?" Captain Pike genuinely looks happy about that, too. 

Jim stares at him for a moment longer, considers pointing out that he doesn't really have a choice. Then he sighs, throws the regen aside. "Lead the way, Captain."

That smile is back. Captain Pike gets a shoulder under Jim's arm to haul him to his feet and all-but carry him out of there, laughing a little at Jim's sarcastic salute in the direction of the Andorian patient who's been watching the whole conversation with wide eyes.

"Everybody's waiting on the ship. Leonard will be- well, not thrilled. You'll see what I mean."

Still blinking away stars from his vision, gritting his teeth against the pain, Jim manages somehow to put one foot in front of the other and form the question, "Who the fuck is Leonard?"


	4. Chapter 4

The CMO of the Enterprise looks him over with moderate horror, sets him up on a biobed that is thankfully isolated from the rest of the crew and leaves him to recover surrounded by various advanced medical technology that gradually makes Jim feel a little less like his insides are spontaneously combusting. It doesn't take as long as he'd thought, but it's still unfamiliar and horrifying. Even surrounded by apparently trustworthy people, he doesn't like feeling helpless. She releases him as soon as she's able, and it's Pike who arrives to meet him and show him around.

He gets his own room on the Enterprise. It's empty and sparse but he doesn't have to share space, even if there is a red-shirted Starfleet officer posted outside his door at all times. He can go to the Mess when he wants, alongside that same Starfleet officer. He can talk to anybody he wants, not that most of the crew even look twice at him. Captain Pike has been reinstated to his rank, but despite the natural authority he possesses he's sort of surplus to requirements while the ship already has an Admiral in the chair. Robert April seems like a decent enough guy, and he was Captain of the Enterprise long before Pike came along, although a combination of his manner and British accent make him sound somewhat clipped and impatient. The crew like Pike better. Jim doesn't entirely blame them.

Scotty's already been banned from Engineering, although he has been allowed access to what remains of his previous research and he's wearing a red uniform adorned with his rank insignia. Chekov and Sulu are both in the same unremarkable grey jumpsuits as Jim has been allowed, and they tend to sit together in the Mess or the Observation Deck. Occasionally Spock, in blue, or Uhura, in red, will join them, although they're both still attempting to recover from heavy blows to their pride and reputation. They're not much company.

After two days, Jim has literally not even seen Bones once. He knows he's there, because he maybe hacked into the ship's roster and found out which room he'd been assigned, but he's not been out of his quarters even to eat or greet him.

"We're all pretty institutionalised by now. Give him some time." Sulu just shrugs when Jim risks asking him about it. They've known him for longer, after all.

"He hates starships." Scotty tells him, more helpfully. He'd been poring over his tablets, apparently not even listening, but he looks up when both Jim and Sulu stare at him. "He has a fear of flying. Probably spaced out and seeing things on whatever cocktail of anti-anxiety meds they had to put him on."

And Jim's not much of a caretaker, but he tries. Takes a carton of soup and tries the chime at Bones' door, knocks and calls through it. He hears nothing in reply, gets only a shrug from the security officer guarding the door, says that he's leaving the food.

When he comes back an hour later, it's gone, but Bones still won't answer the door.

After three more days of repeating that same process, it's starting to get a little old.

"Why won't he see me?" he asks, almost rhetorically, as he plays cards with Chekov and the two security officers who are charged with guarding them and distinctly bored by the prospect.

"You had a sexual relationship based on an exchange of favours, coercion and enormous pressure, he probably feels guilty about it."

"That's- disturbingly specific."

Chekov shrugs. He also wins the fourth hand of poker in a row when he out-bluffs a woman three times his age despite only having a pair of threes. "It's why Scotty would never fuck me. Said the power imbalance was too much and I wouldn't know what I really wanted until I had more than one option."

They're all staring at him, by then, but he just collects his winnings in the form of the selection of potato chips they've been using in lieu of actual currency, pops one in his mouth and deals the next hand.

"I'm sorry, how old are you?" the other security officer asks, on behalf of all of them.

"Seventeen." Chekov says, and rolls his eyes when he sees their reactions. "We were already in prison. There was much worse going on in there. And isn't that what I should have been doing, rightfully, at my age? Making poor sexual decisions? In Russia the age of consent is sixteen. Scotland, too. But anyway-" he glances at his cards and throws down a few chips to place his bet. "We were talking about you. You are old enough to consent but can you argue that you would have done the same had you met Leonard on the street?"

Jim considers it. Not for very long. "I probably would."

Chekov snorts. The female officer looks at Jim with a brow raised.

"Have you seen him?" Jim asks her, and she shakes her head, still unconvinced.

"He is very attractive. Tall, dark, handsome. Nice hands," Chekov agrees, giving Jim a wink when he glares. "I am agreeing with you."

"I liked what we did. But we didn't exactly date first, or- kiss, until like, the fourth time. Or discuss safewords."

With a mutter of something that sounds vaguely unflattering in Russian, Chekov rolls his eyes. "And people are worried about me."

Jim sighs, plays his hand and loses terribly, again, as he contemplates a life of poor sexual decisions.

-

He doesn't bother with the chime on Bones' door the next time, just enters the code and walks straight in. 

"Wondered when you'd do that." Bones is sprawled on his back on the bed, looking terrible, pale and drawn and exhausted.

"How do you look worse since you got out of prison?" Jim asks him, snatching up the bottle from the bedside table and crossing to the tap to fill it with drinking water.

"This is still a prison, and it's travelling faster than the speed of light only a few millimetres of metal away from the cold vacuum of space. And even if we make it wherever the hell we're going, who knows what we'll run into there. Murderous aliens, new diseases we have no way of combating. Space is horrifying. Disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence."

"Have you slept?" Jim asks him, gently, perching on the edge of his bed to hand over the water and stroke damp, greasy hair back from Bones' forehead, receiving an incredulous look in return.

"What the fuck is happening here?"

"I miss you."

"No, you don't."

"I do, Bones. I miss the man who took care of me on that first day when I had nothing. Who introduced me to his friends even though I could have hurt him with that knowledge. Who spared me and kept me safe when word was getting out that I had an agenda. You could have ruined me, or just used me, but instead you looked at me like you cared, and if you meant a single moment of it- I don’t want to lose that.”

For a while, Bones just stares at him. It's okay. Jim is willing to wait.

"I stabbed you," Bones reminds him, and Jim grimaces because he may have entirely forgotten about that in all the upheaval. He's always known Bones never meant to hurt him and he guesses it just didn't register properly. "I raped you. Multiple times. You shouldn't even want to see me." His voice cracks and he covers his eyes with a hand, although Jim couldn't possibly have missed the tears there.

"Bones. You did what was necessary. I know what that's like. And- the sex. It was never non-consensual."

"Jim, having a lack of ability to say no is not the same as saying yes."

"It was my idea!"

"To ensure your survival. What choice did you have? I all but spelled it out to you the moment you arrived. I- I didn't deserve to be put in that place. But I more than earned my sentence once I got there. I embraced the life. And I don't know if I can exist outside of it any more. You should get as far away from me as possible. Before I do any more damage."

Jim swallows. There's a lot to deal with and he's not sure he's ready for any of it. He has no idea what Bones did while he was in there, has only his certainty that Jim has done worse himself, when the circumstances demanded it. They're the same, and he doesn't want to go. But if Bones isn't ready- if he's trying to say that he only pursued their relationship because that was he had to do, then Jim isn't going to push that.

"Do you- want to be with me?"

That makes Bones look at him. His eyes are bloodshot and swollen and resigned. He's been dwelling on this for days, Jim can see it. 

"What I want doesn't matter. I don't deserve- any of this. Freedom. Another chance. You."

"Well I want to be with you. So what's the problem?"

"Victims want to be with their abusers, Jim. It's part of not believing they have a choice. You have a choice."

"No I don't, you're not giving me one! You're forcing me away."

"It's for your own good. You'll see that one day."

Jim wants to cry, himself. He can't believe this is happening. "You- were never a means to an end, for me. I like you. I want you. And it all aligned so that what I wanted was what was best, too, and that's never happened to me before. If you don't feel the same then I- I guess there's nothing I can do about that. I'll accept it. But if this is some misguided attempt to overcompensate when you only ever did what you had to do, then- Bones, I understand. You said it was okay, what I did. I don't understand why it has to be different for you. I want to get through this together. And if you want to do it without the sex part-"

"I don't want you, Jim. I never did."

Jim knows it's a lie. He knows Bones is just trying to drive him away. It doesn't make it feel any less like a knife stabbing right through his heart. That's kind of apt for the two of them, he guesses. "You don't have to do this, I'll go if you want."

"We had fun. But that's all it was." Bones can't even manage to inject some emotion, speaks in a low monotone, like he's reading a particularly uninspiring script. 

"You think it'll hurt less this way, but you're wrong."

"It meant nothing."

"Alright, I'm going!" Jim stands. He won't cry, but his breath is coming faster than it should, hitching and a little wet. "We could be so good together. So when you're doing this self-pity thing again, or still, just remember that the only reason we're not is this moment. Take care of yourself."

The security officer in charge of following him that day pats him awkwardly on the shoulder when he collapses in a fit of wracking, silent sobs just outside the door. 

He knows Bones will come around. He knows it.

He just really fucking hopes it's sometime soon.

-

On their way back to Earth, they stop at Yorktown. It's not an organic planet with fresh air and natural light and unsterilised surfaces, but it's still a chance to stretch their legs. Their little group has to take turns visiting, just like the crew of the Enterprise, because they still have to be supervised, so Jim's with Sulu and their respective security officers, neither of whom look too pleased to be there with them. 

There aren't too many people milling around in the transporter bay, but a small group catches Jim's eye in the instant before a man steps forward, too hesitant to be any sort of threat and with a little girl clutching at his hand.

"Hikaru," he says.

Hikaru turns, and actually staggers with the force of the emotions assailing him when he sees who's there, who came for him, even though he hasn't seen them in years.  

"Ben," he sobs, and crosses the distance with long, quick strides before drawing up short immediately in front of him, reaching out with shaking hands to touch him, not quite sure he'll be allowed, entirely sure he doesn't deserve it. He's abandoned them, for years, insisted that his sweet baby girl be allowed to live the most normal life she can, far away from her murderer of a father. Every time visiting hours rolled around, he told himself he was glad that she didn't have to see it, that Ben didn't have to watch him deteriorate, become someone else, a product of his environment. 

Ben pulls him into a hug, holds him tight, has always been the strongest of them, standing tall where Hikaru is unable to unable to hold back his tears, sobbing gratefully in his arms and then kneeling unsteadily to see his girl, his beautiful baby girl.

She's hiding behind Ben's leg, as though she doesn't know what to do, doesn't know if she can trust him. Like she's not quite sure who he is. "Hey sweetheart."

The hesitance in her voice when she says- "Daddy?" makes his heart feel like it's shattering into a thousand pieces, and he can hardly see her through the tears but he nods, sniffling, and she steps out from behind Ben to cautiously wind her arms around his neck. He holds her like she's made of glass, because she's tiny and fragile and he can't be trusted with that, not yet, breathes in the smell of her hair and loves with everything he has.

He stands with her still in his arms, leans in to rest his forehead against Ben's temple, can't even put into words everything he's feeling in that moment, just exists and allows himself to dream of living again.

"Hey," Ben murmurs, and he's perfect, he's gorgeous, he looks so tired, but he's still wearing Hikaru's wedding ring as well as his own even after it's been so long, and he slips it off only to give it back, to slide it onto Hikaru's finger as easily as he had the first time. "Welcome home. We've missed you."

Hikaru just sobs, and nods, and hopes he's understood.

Jim wants so desperately to be happy for him, and he will be in time, but at that moment all he can think is that he'll never have that family reunion, with nobody alive who cares about him enough to even greet him, and Bones won't either, with his dead wife and missing daughter.

Bones, who still hasn't spoken to him or even left his quarters since they arrived.

Jim isn't any worse off than he was when he started serving his sentence, he tells himself. He had nobody then and he has nobody now.

That's not entirely true.

He's still getting his ass kicked by Chekov at poker. He'd never realised that he could have fun losing so consistently before. He wins a little more when he's sparring with Hikaru, but that gets harder every day, until the security officers supervising them start to offer up their own guidance. They're alright, now that they've figured out that nobody has any intention of going anywhere or playing up just to be difficult.

Scotty lends him a padd so he can at least watch movies and catch up on current events. He starts looking at the curriculum, too, for the Command track at the Academy, and finds himself enjoying the reading. It's been so long since he's felt like he's really stretching his mind to learn. 

Pike sneaks him onto the Bridge during gamma shift one time. It's fantastic, every piece of equipment state of the art, the viewscreen displaying an impossible, infinite landscape of stars. Jim's mesmerised, just stands there staring, moves only when another Federation ship hails them, so he's not in the way of the activity that starts taking place around him. They're taking on some cargo and a couple of passengers who need transport back to Earth, and it's fantastic to listen to it all, to see Uhura managing the communications almost single-handedly, her voice steady and sure. Jim gives her a grin when he gets a chance, and she returns it with a lovely smile, a brief nod.

He turns when the doors to the Bridge hiss open to admit an intimidatingly stern, dark-haired woman. Various people look up but she only has eyes for Pike. 

"Permission to come onto the Bridge, Captain."

Pike visibly breaks at the sound of her voice, turns to her with such a wide-eyed, stricken expression that Jim almost wonders if he should intervene, before the majority of the Captain's mask slides back into place. He's standing tall, walks steadily towards her, but the wetness in his eyes and the fragility in his smile give him away. "Permission granted, Number One."

When she smiles, it's like everything else fades away. Chris steps forwards, and they've never been affectionate, always contained themselves to their exchanges of looks and smiles and nods, but he sweeps her into his arms and she laughs in his ear as she wraps around him and God, he loves her, he's missed her so much.

"You fought for me," he breathes. She's suffered so much because of him and he can never forgive himself, couldn't believe it when he'd heard on that fucking recording, that she was still on his side, even after all he'd been accused of.

She draws back, raises a hand to cradle his jaw and Chris can almost feel the crew taking bets on when they're going to kiss, but it's not like that, for them it's always been more. "I will always fight for you."

They should have probably made it to his ready room, but it's too late by then. Chris leans their foreheads together, is still holding her around the waist, can still feel her laughing, a little, against him. "I'm sorry."

"For what? Being too pure for words?"

Chris sighs.

"For caring so much about others that you neglected yourself?"

"Thank you, Number One."

"For forgetting that there are people who care about you, no matter what?"

"We can continue this discussion in my ready room."

Number One beams at him. "Lead the way, Captain. I'd be more than happy to elaborate."

"Back to work, everyone," Chris says, as they go, to everyone on the Bridge who has abandoned their work to stare, shamelessly. There's a flurry of activity, and then the ready room door hisses shut behind them.

-

“They offered me a job at the Academy,” Scotty says, and Pavel looks at him with curiosity tinged with cautious optimism from where he’s sat, curled up on Scotty’s bunk, reading his padd. Scotty’s at his desk, keeping the same cautious distance between them that he has been since they arrived, since they met, even,  but unwilling to quite let Pavel go. He hasn’t figured out yet whether he’s being sensitive to Pavel’s issues, or just selfish, wanting to keep him.

"Are you going to accept?"

"Well, my alternative is a post on Delta Vega, which sounds like a Siberian hellhole, if you'll pardon my geographical racism."

"None taken," Pavel smiles at him, the ridiculous, beautiful boy, so full of promise with so many options, with a mind that puts Scotty to shame so often. His face falls, though, when Scotty stays silent for a while longer, and then he sighs. He's hiding how hurt he is, but Scotty sees it. "You're taking the post on Delta Vega."

"I need some time to work on my research." It's true. Not the whole truth, and they both know it, which is probably why Scotty can't summon up any more of an explanation.

"Yes, I daresay you would struggle to find such facilities at the Academy."

"I need to be alone."

"Stop!" Pavel sets his padd down, glares at him, doesn't raise his voice but his anger and frustration are clear, his tone venomous. "You do not need to lie to me. If you say you are going, I will not stop you. But do not- placate me with these excuses. Tell me the truth."

"That is the truth."

It makes Pavel roll his eyes, but what Scotty forgets -needs to stop forgetting- is that he can just get up and leave, now. And he does. At least he says, before he walks out the door, "Do not leave without saying goodbye."

And okay, Scotty had been considering it. He'd been telling himself that it would make it easier on both of them, but all it would actually do is make it easier on him.

He's still considering it. He puts his head in his hands.

-

Nyota sighs as she sorts through her emails. It takes more effort for her than most; her inbox is littered with jokes, hoaxes, false reports from people who think it's funny or that she needs a reminder of her sins. She has to parse every single one before she can decide whether to delete them or save them. Any particularly important memos are forwarded to her by Spock or Pike, or occasionally Scotty. She doesn't know him that well, but his contacts in the Engineering department are far-reaching and knowledgeable. He has a lot of friends.

She wonders if they're happy to have him back.

She's at her station on the Bridge well into the next shift, has to take her padd to the Mess and finish up there. She sits, and she scrolls, and she composes responses in her head to the horrible souls who won't just let her try and make up for her honest mistake in peace.

"Ex- excuse me, Lieutenant?"

Nyota looks up, can't imagine she looks too approachable to the Cadet who's approached her, wringing her hands and biting her lip. "Can I help you?"

"I know you're busy, Lieutenant, and I'm sorry for even asking when I know you- you must have a lot to do, I just- I'm trying to learn Klingon. Everybody always has so much to say about them and I just want to understand for myself. I wondered if you had any- any recommendations? For materials or- or any advice? If you can spare the time."

It takes a moment for Nyota to stop staring, to convince herself to blink and then set her padd aside and pull out a chair for the poor cadet who looks like she might collapse from nerves at any moment. "Of course."

The cadet smiles so broadly that it looks like it hurts, as she takes the seat. "So I've been trying to start with the conversational stuff, but it's not really any use. And okay, maybe I will have a reason to ask a Klingon what time it is, I mean- it could happen."

-

"Can you deciper this, Lieutenant?" Admiral April asks her, when they receive a garbled transmission that's mixed up somewhere between Hungarian and Romulan.  She's not even the only linguistics Officer on the bridge. She smiles and nods.

-

Spock's not trusted with much in terms of important scientific research, but he is allowed in the lab to carry out his own experiments once the existing team is finished with their materials. He examines, and checks, evaluates and tries not to care that nobody wants to be alone with him in there. At least his intimidating reputation means that he is not victimised or harassed in the same way as Lieutenant Uhura.

Still, it is difficult to maintain the integrity of his experiments while he is absent. His results are often tampered with, or his samples destroyed completely. Accidentally, the other lab technicians would have him believe. He cannot react. To show adverse emotion would be to prove them correct.

One small plant, a formerly successful attempt at cultivating a species that might have medicinal properties, lays cast aside in scattered dirt when he enters, one day. He kneels to collect it, carefully re-pots it, encloses it in a suitable biodome and leaves the lab with it in his hands. The conditions in there are not adequate. 

For the time being, it can remain in his quarters. It's a suitable temperature and he will simply have to monitor the water levels. Possibly adjust the nature of the fertiliser should it not prove to be effective.

"Hey, Spock," Sulu greets him when he enters the Mess in search of a suitable container for water. "Whatcha got there?"

They pass some enjoyable time discussing the nature of Spock's research. He had noticed, of course, that Sulu appeared to have an affinity for farming, but had never thought to consider that his expertise in botany might run deeper. He has a number of suggestions that will help the research and greatly improve the chances of his plant surviving.

"What is it?" Jim asks, when Spock attends his quarters to suggest a game of chess. He has noticed that Jim is restless both physically and mentally and believes it will assist him. And he has brought the plant, in order to continue his assessment of its progress. 

"I believe it may have medicinal properties. And to ensure effective cultivation I have elected to keep it on my person."

"But it's an alien plant?"

"Correct."

"But you're not planning to cultivate it on Earth. Or- Vulcan. Are you? Transplanting foreign species into the existing ecosystem could cause all kinds of damage."

That is worth considering. Spock is aware of such cases, although they do not fill him with the anxiety that seems to take hold of Jim at the thought.

With a little prompting, Jim tells him the story of the famine on Tarsus IV. He stops and starts a lot, jumps back and forth through the chronological timeline as though he hasn't considered the narrative before. Spock wonders if he's ever told anybody else. He doesn't ask.

There's some research into the species that he's attempting to cultivate, Nyota mentions, one night. It's all in Andorian and she helps him translate it into Standard.

Sulu then translates that into something meaningful that he can actually work from.

Jim thinks they're all insane, but he names the plant despite Spock's argument that a non-sentient object requires no such address.

"Why don't you just program an automatic watering mechanism for her? It wouldn't be that difficult. Just a matter of sensors and and application." Scotty suggests, and he's very much on the wrong side of possibly an entire bottle of whiskey, but by the morning he's created exactly that. Chekov assures him he's checked the electronics, too, and so Poppy (Jim is aware that there is already an Earth-native plant species by this name and professes he doesn't care) flourishes, growing larger and stronger on Spock's shelf.

Spock touches the biodome to reassure himself of her continued presence, sometimes, despite the irrationality of both the gesture and the gendered pronoun. His work in the lab can still be difficult, but when he returns to his quarters afterwards, often Jim is there to play chess and make ridiculous statements to intentionally cause provocative discussion. Sulu starts to insinuate himself into the resulting conversations, often has useful suggestions for resolving problems that Spock would never have otherwise considered, and knows a number of vegetarian recipes he's happy to share.

Scotty has a great deal of knowledge regarding the process of submitting research papers, and Chris is more than happy to sign them off with his authority. It ensures that Spock's research comes to the attention of those who might use it, rather than being dismissed outright. Nyota hugs him when he tells her this, and he holds her close, marvelling at the easy affection she displays and the simple pleasure he finds in it, still. 

The other officers on the ship continue to be wary of him, but Spock notices a decline in their more passive aggressive behaviour, and finds that his emotional reaction is lessened, too.

And if there is one plant in the lab that causes itchiness but no other adverse reaction when it comes into contact with human skin, and that plant is improperly managed by the automated system so the pollen is released into the air on a day when Spock is off duty, and Chekov seems entirely unsurprised by all of this, well. There's no evidence to suggest he was directly involved. 

Maybe it's a foreign substance in his eye when he winks at Spock across the Mess, that same day.

It's all very curious.

-

"I lied." Pavel says, when the day comes for Scotty to ship out. His voice cracks in the middle of the word. "Don't go. Please."

"I'm sorry," is all Scotty can bring himself to say, but he takes Pavel in his arms and holds him, breathes him in one last time for who knows how long. They've been so close for so long that they hardly know how to survive without one another, but that's why he has to go. He won't let Pavel continue to grow up thinking that Scotty is all he has. Won't let him take refuge in having him when he could be out there, making new friends and taking advantage of new opportunities without his old life, without his imprisonment holding him back.

So he's not just apologising for leaving. He's apologising for being there in the first place, for the circumstances that made it necessary for them to spend every night together for years, to share every single one of their thoughts and feelings so that they could better understand one another, so they could know what the other was about to do with only a glance. They did what they had to in order to survive. None of it was ever because either of them wanted. It's not right. 

"The posting's only three years. I'll see you again. I just- God, Pavel, you do understand, don't you? That we can't go on like we did in there." Scotty won't just leave him, saw what it did to Jim when Leonard just went without letting him have any sort of closure, and they'd only known each other for a matter of days.

And in return, he hears a disgruntled huff, feels the shrug, Pavel pressing against him a little more as he admits, begrudgingly. "I understand. I do not like it. But I do understand."

"You'll meet so many new people. Learn so many new things. See just how many options you have, and it'll be more than you've ever imagined."

"And you will freeze half to death and start talking to your machines before the first week is over."

Scotty smiles, squeezes his eyes shut against the tears that threaten to fall, breathes in the smell of Pavel's shampoo and releases him.

"You kept me safe." Pavel says, and his eyes are a little watery, too, even though he's never been one to succumb to emotion. "I will never forget that. Even if- we never see each other again, you will always be important to me."

"Think you saved me more than I ever saved you."

"I would do it again. Just call. You will call." It should probably come out as a question, but it doesn't. 

Scotty reaches out to run a hand through unruly curls, lips twitching up as Pavel presses into it, insistent, like a cat. "I don't know if it's set up for real time comm, but I'll mail."

Pavel seems at least a little reassured by that. He manages a small, but genuine smile, anyway. "I will let you go, then." 

"Thank you," Scotty says, for more reasons than he will ever be able to put into words.

There's wickedness in Pavel's eyes and he bares his teeth briefly then leans in to kiss Scotty's cheek, warm and affectionate. "Bye, daddy."

"Bye, baby," Scotty sighs.

And that's it. They bid farewell to both each other and to those ridiculous titles, only ever said in jest and genuine affection but far, far too much to allow them to carry over into the real world they have found themselves in. Nobody will ever know or understand what they have been through, and there's connection in that, but they need to know they can walk through life alone, too. One day they might need to.


	5. Chapter 5

Bones is still not talking to Jim by the time they arrive at the Academy. It's very frustrating. Jim's never met anybody more stubborn than he is, before, and he's delivered food and even flowers and gifts almost daily, to no effect.

It's also probably why neither of them realise until they finish their orientation that they're going to be sharing a room. Both Pavel and Hikaru mysteriously have other urgent plans elsewhere when Jim even implies there might be a possibility of a swap. 

And Chris is decidedly unsympathetic. "You think it's appropriate for an emotionally vulnerable seventeen-year-old to be sharing a room with either of you?"

Jim has to concede that point. At least they have their own bedrooms, even if they're tiny, thanks to Bones' enrolment in the medical track.

It's not like they never see each other though. They have a lot of the same classes in their first year, various introductory tutorials and crammer classes to catch up on what they missed, joining so late in the academic year. They're civil enough to each other, but never particularly honest, or intimate, and it's driving Jim insane with how unnecessarily awkward it is. They went through something together, and the least they could do is acknowledge it.

He always tries to be considerate. If he's meeting someone, he'll always go to theirs. He always cleans up after himself. Never plays his music too loud or makes too much noise clattering about in the kitchen when he knows Bones is sleeping after a night shift in the clinic.

Both Spock and Uhura have taken tutoring jobs at the Academy. Jim doesn't blame them. It gives new recruits a chance to get used to them, to meet them before they hear any of the more contentious rumours. Pavel's busy with more work than any of them, having missed so much schooling, frankly putting them all to shame with how quickly he's catching up. And although Hikaru is around during the week, he's been given a special dispensation to reside off-campus at Ben's apartment on his days off, so he can spend time with him and Demora. 

There's not nearly enough distraction. Jim fills his time with as many extracurriculars as possible. He's taking advanced hand-to-hand, piloting and negotiation classes, and he's even joined the Academy soccer team. By the time he makes it back to their room, he's too exhausted to do anything but collapse in bed after nothing but the vaguest greeting in Bones' direction, if he's in.

Jim misses him far more than he should, for the short-lived nature of their acquaintance, misses the idea of having a best friend as much as the man himself in the foggy moments between his head hitting the pillow and his mind descending into sleep.

-

Jim’s just getting ready for soccer practice one day when there’s a knock at the door.

Nobody ever visits him. And he’s never seen anybody come in search of Bones, either, so he’s not really sure what’s he’s expecting when he opens the door.

He definitely hadn't anticipated a face that makes his knees threaten to give way beneath him, that makes bile rise in his throat and his head spin with the visceral, awful selection of memories that immediately come flooding back. The pain of his knuckles having repeatedly struck against bone, the crack of a body hitting the floor, heavy and limp, hands still vibrating even though he dropped the phaser long ago, the blur through the view screen as a starship hit warp and seven life signs were immediately snuffed out, seven families torn apart by their loss and grief.

“Commander-“ he begins, but she holds up a hand, and he stops, concentrating on keeping himself back from the edge of hyperventilating.

“It’s Captain Giorgiou now, actually.”

“Congratulations.”

She smiles at that, sincere and genuine. “Thank you. May I come in?”

Jim can only nod. He staggers over to the tiny dining table and takes a seat, vaguely glad he keeps the kitchen clean and his dirty laundry in his room, because he had not planned to entertain captains, let alone ones who were witness to the horrifying events of his making on board the USS Narbonne.

Captain Giorgiou sinks into the one opposite him with far more grace and poise than Jim could summon up at the best of times. She’s somehow authoritative without being imposing, but there’s a smile in her eyes all the same. “I wanted to come and see you when I heard you were here. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been keeping an eye on your file ever since- well. You know. I’m glad you’re turning your abilities to something more productive. Starfleet is lucky to have you.”

“I think there are a few people who would disagree with your assessment, Captain.” Jim’s voice is hoarser than he’d intended, like something’s wrapped around his throat or he’s been screaming. “No matter what I do here it won’t make up for what I did.”

“Hmm. Christopher said you’d been having trouble with that particular aspect of your rehabilitation. It’s why I’ve come to offer you an opportunity to do more. Not because you need to, but because I think you have something to prove.”

“What do you need?”

“Starships assigned to scientific and communication missions accept cadets as a part of their regular crew, during the summer break. Generally they do not take first years, but I have convinced some of my colleagues that it would be in their best interests to accept you. Should you be available.”

Jim has a sinking feeling that he knows where this is going. “I’d appreciate the opportunity, Captain.”

“They will not make port for another few months, but I have been reliably informed that Captain Korrapati of the USS Narbonne would be honoured to count you among his crew, for those six weeks.”

“I-“ Jim’s throat seizes. He tries again. “I- damnit.”

Captain Giorgiou reaches out, slowly to cover his hand, where it rests on the table, with hers. She’s so kind and understanding and has so many better things to do, and Jim has no idea why she’s here. She could have sent a comm message. “You saved thousands of people on Tarsus Four, when you were just a child. Emotions were running high, at the time. The entire crew had to deal not only with the loss of their colleague but the horror that awaited them on that planet. But what you did showed impressive skill and resolve and the fact that you are here, today, is a credit to your resilience. You will be a fine officer, James Kirk.”

Jim can’t respond. He swallows in an attempt to contain his rising emotions but can’t find his voice, can hardly see through the tears in his eyes.

“I’ll leave you to consider the offer. Contact me, any time, if you need anything.” Captain Giorgiou smiles, and Jim can’t see it but he can hear it in her voice. She’s always been so kind to him, ever since he was a child. He manages to nod, and she squeezes his fingers before getting up to leave letting herself out.

For a while, Jim just concentrates as best he can on breathing, bringing his heart rate down, attempting to stem the flow of panic coursing through him at the thought of facing those people, in that environment. It’s the best thing to do, he knows, to prove himself. He just doesn’t know if he’s physically able to face up to all of that so absolutely.

It’s a choice only he can make.

“You alright?” Bones asks. He’s leaning against the wall by the door to his bedroom, doesn’t approach, arms folded across his chest. He’s been in his room the whole time, has to have heard pretty much everything.

Jim is too tired and emotionally exposed to deal with that particular confusing change of attitude at that moment. He's already on his feet and storming out when he snaps back,“Oh, like you fucking care.”

He feels terrible the second the door whooshes shut behind him, ignores the stabbing guilt and lets his anger keep him walking. How dare Bones try and use that moment when he was most vulnerable to sneak back in, to probe at the cracks in Jim’s defensive barriers, made necessary by the way Bones himself has acted.

Except Jim’s been unwilling to bridge that gap himself because he feels like he needs to hear that apology from Bones first. He needs to see evidence of Bones being willing to bend, to make himself vulnerable, to be at Jim’s mercy for a while.

And it could have been the first cautious step towards that, that he just rejected so violently.

He sends a comm message that just reads, _“I’m sorry.”_

He gets no reply, but it’s shown as read, so Bones has to have seen it. It will have to do, for the time being. Jim doesn’t have any energy left to play mind games.

He needs a drink. And he needs to think.

And he needs to book a few more appointments with his therapist.

-

He catches Bones' eyes lingering on him more than before. It might be because it's happening more often or because Bones is finally letting him see it, and every time it makes a traitorous warmth spread through him. It's tinged at the edges with anxiety though. Jim's never found it easy to trust, and he feels like he's been betrayed far beyond what he can forgive.

Except he wants to. He wants to come home and complain to Bones about his day and listen in return and suggest working out their respective tensions in more physical ways.

He wants to ask him what the fuck he thinks Jim should do about this offer to work on the Narbonne. A lot of the crew will have changed from the last time he was on it, but ten years isn’t really a long time for officers. Some of them will have been promoted elsewhere but there will still certainly be those who remember what happened. What Jim did. 

All of his fucking extracurriculars mean he has no time to consider it properly, and with every day that passes he’s more anxious about the delay. He needs to let Captain Korrapati know at the first opportunity, but he can’t bring himself to commit either way.

His Introduction to Xenoanthropology class is covering the events that took place on an unnamed planet where the introduction of Earth flora and fauna caused the existing ecological system to entirely collapse, resulting in a famine that caused unforeseen psychological effects and would have starved half the human population.

Even looking at it from such an abstract, distant point of view is making Jim want to vomit.

In fact, it’s worse than if they confronted the full and horrible reality of it. At least then it wouldn’t feel like ignoring the human cost of such a mistake.

He staggers out of that room feeling terrible, in desperate need of a drink or the numbness of sleep but actually having to get back to his room so he can pick up his kit for advanced hand to hand.

There’s a cadet in the third year who had a sister who died on the Narbonne because of what Jim did. Jim knows that, not because he checked, but because that particular cadet picks that day to try and start a fight with him in the Quad. She comes at him shouting, body language aggressive and confrontational. He can't make out any of her words, it all just sounds like noise. When she goes for him, he has to get his hands up to put some space between them. She shoves him back into a wall and he has to steady himself to stay standing.

One of the teaching assistants was on the Kelvin. When it becomes clear that Jim is not going to respond meaningfully to any of the accusations flung in his direction, it all devolves into a literal fistfight, the two of them rolling around on the floor, cheered on by their respective friends and supporters.

Jim runs.

He can't get in trouble. He can't go back to prison, doesn't know if he'd make it if he had to go through all that again. There was a time when he would have waded in, regardless of the consequences, but he's been given a chance and he doesn't intend to waste it. There's no way anybody would believe he had nothing to do with that fight, looking at his record or his history.

Spock's not answering his comm, and Uhura isn't either. There's nobody at the Academy -hell, on the planet- who would have both the interest and the authority necessary to defend him. Chris is away, supervising a training mission, and despite Jim's recent conversation with Captain Giorgiou, who miraculously seems to be on his side, he's not ready to impose.

He slams through the front door to their room, smacks a hand on the controls to close it behind him and sinks to his knees to curl up on the floor and have the first panic attack he's allowed himself in a long, long time.

When he drifts back into awareness, the room seems kind of foggy. His limbs feel numb. His breathing's not quite coming fast enough for him to feel like his lungs are filling. His neck hurts. And he's not alone.

"Did you drug me?" he slurs, without getting up from where he is now sprawled on the floor, not quite comfortable but unwilling to contemplate moving.

"I thought you were going to have a damn heart attack. Yes, I drugged you."

"You're supposed to ask, first."

"You literally punched me when I tried to get anywhere near you, so-"

Jim's eyes snap wide open and he twists, trying to get a better look, because he didn't, he wouldn't- "Oh, God, Bones, I'm sorry."

Bones, who is rolling his eyes, who has a rueful sort of twist to his bruised and swollen lip, just shrugs. "Is it weird that I consider us to be moving towards being even?"

"Yep. Pretty weird. Violence is not the answer." Jim grimaces. "Any more."

Bones snorts. He's subdued, but there's so much spirit hidden deep within him. He's leaning back against the wall, sitting with one leg straight out in front of him and the other bend. It makes Jim want to twist around far enough to rest his head in his lap. "Tell that to Cadet Jenn."

"You heard?"

"They both ended up in the Academy Clinic. Neither of 'em really hurt."

"Did- Security speak to them?" 

"Not by the time I left. I imagine they will. Nobody blames you."

Jim laughs at that, reaches up to run a hand through his hair, to get the sweaty strands out of his face and realises with moderate horror that his knuckles are red and scraped, from both his earlier collision with the wall and the later one with- "Fuck."

“Yeah. You feel like letting me fix that?”

It’s alright, Jim wants to say. But he knows how bad it looks, more than he cares about how much it hurts, once he’s realized that the injury is there. By the time he contemplates lying about it, he knows it’s already too late. Bones sees right through him.

“I can go to the clinic,” he says anyway, has to make the effort, has to give Bones the out, if he wants it. Jim hurt him.

Bones straight up laughs in his face at that one though and okay, yes, it’s not Jim’s finest work. “You and I both know you wouldn’t go to the clinic unless I marched you there myself. And I’m too tired to walk across campus again. So hold still.”

He procures a regen from a medical bag he has at his side. It brings back memories, but Jim doesn’t want to comment, isn’t willing to break the fragile truce that seems to have fallen into place between them. Except- “I’m sorry,” he has to say, in person. “For- well, for punching you. And for before. You were just trying to help.”

So much for not commenting. Jim hates himself.

Bones doesn’t immediately respond, although his hands are steady and sure, his touch gentle but firm. Jim’s a little relieved to note that seeing him in action, healing rather than committing acts of heinous violence, is just as appealing as it’s always been. Bones moves with the same quiet competence that Jim fell for, that caught his interest so quickly and absolutely. If he notices Jim’s intent gaze on him, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

He sighs, though, eyes on his work. “I’m sorry too. For everything. It’s not enough to say it, but I ain’t gonna make up for it by sitting around on my ass.”

“You could,” Jim offers with a leering once-over, then groans at his own lack of anything resembling tact. “Sorry. Fuck. I’ve never apologized so much in my life.”

“I don’t ever want to take for granted that I can treat you that way. That I can hurt you, and still-“ Bones blinks away tears, frustrated and helpless and without so much as pausing in his work.

“I won’t let you do that again. Give me some credit, Bones. I could do better than someone who’s gunna take advantage, alright? I just need you to trust me. And- fuck, look at you. Have you hurt a single person since you arrived here? That guy in there, that wasn’t you. You acted a certain way because you had to. It doesn’t change who you are as a person.”

“You barely know me, Jim.”

“I’d like to.” Jim shrugs, careful not to let the motion shift his hand where it’s held gently in Bones’. “And I know that- there’s a lot between us that probably needs picking apart by people far more qualified to offer judgement than we are, but- that thing? About neither of us sharing a room with Chekov? That’s bullshit. He’s got it way more together than either of us. So you know that means Chris thinks we can at least get through this year without killing each other. And he seems to know what he’s talking about.”

“He does, huh?” But Bones has finished, the skin of Jim’s knuckles shiny and new, and they’re still holding hands, Bones’ thumb just rubbing gently back and forth. Jim’s heart swells with hope, but he’s not worried. He’s got a doctor right there, after all.

"I really am sorry." With his free hand, Jim reaches out to brush gently at Bones' swollen lip, sees it twitch upwards, just a little.

"I stabbed you three times. Think you're entitled to a punch."

"It doesn't work that way."

Bones sighs. "I know. And my therapist would have a field day, but- it makes me feel a little better."

"It's never okay, Bones. I swore to myself I'd never be that person. We're not in that place anymore."

With a rueful look around them, at the four walls within which they are both required by law to live and sleep, Bones arches a brow. "Aren't we?"

-

“He needs to get out, Chris! Being here all the time is basically prison only the food isn’t as good. He hasn’t been anywhere except our room, the main building and the clinic since he arrived.”

_“Well, good. That’s part of the condition of his release.”_

“He didn’t do anything wrong!”

_“Jim. Fourteen counts of illegally distributing opiates; three of occasioning grievous bodily harm and seven of attempted murder do not count as nothing.”_

“That- okay, that does sound pretty bad.” Jim sags. It’s terrible but he forgets, sometimes, what Bones has proven himself capable of, within the confines of that terrible environment.

The holographic image of Christopher Pike looks at him with something resembling sympathy. _“He’s lucky he’s being allowed to serve at all. His work at the hospital goes some way to showing he’s rehabilitated, but by Starfleet standards he’s still three life sentences short of fulfilling his debt to society.”_

That’s- worse than Jim had expected, and it comes with another unwelcome realization, one that hits him hard. “They’re not gonna let him see his daughter, are they? When they find her, I mean.”

_“Supervised visits would probably be allowed. Conditionally.”_

“Good behavior?”

_“That’s right.”_

“He’s a good guy, Chris. The best.”

_“I know. I’m sorry.”_

“Except you, obviously.”

_“Well, we can’t all be paragons of virtue.”_ Chris’ smile is soft, understanding. He knows what it’s like, Jim knows, to laugh to keep from crying.

Jim sniffs. “What can I do?”

Chris sighs. _“There- have been instances where judicial sentences have been cancelled entirely, should a candidate prove themselves more- useful to the Federation, that way. Incarcerated felons aren’t allowed to serve as officers on starships. His applying for a role on one would probably be your best bet.”_

“Oh, is that all? I need to get him to serve on his least favourite mode of transportation, doing a job he’s entirely unqualified for in an environment that terrifies him?”

_“And you’ve got three years to do it. If you want him on the same ship as you.”_

Jim allows himself a moment to contemplate that particular horror, having Bones out there, light-years away from him with no method of contacting him in real time or ever knowing if he was safe. Constantly missing him, always wondering. It's unimaginably heart-wrenching. He shakes it off. “I can do that.”

_“Yes, you can. Take care, Jim.”_

“Thanks. Chris. I appreciate it.”

The hologram flickers and fades, Chris’ final, triumphant smile remaining burned into Jim’s retinas for an additional second before he turns away from the hologram generator and contemplates getting to work.

-

“I’d rather stay in prison. In fact, you know what, I’d rather be dead.”

“You’re being dramatic. And also-“ Jim shrugs, not quite apologetically, takes a sip of his beer as Bones glares at him over his own. They’re sat at opposite ends of the couch in their room, because Bones still refuses to go to the bar on campus. “Those are in fact probably your options, so maybe consider it a little more before you go saying no.”

“At least on Earth I could make sure my own death is quick and painless. Do you have any idea what exposure does to you, out in space? What sort of alien diseases exist but haven’t even been discovered yet?”

“I mean- by definition, no. Nobody knows what alien diseases haven’t been discovered, except that particular brand of alien, maybe. And you’re still being dramatic. What about me?”

“Well, yes, you do have a certain inclination towards drama-“

“Bones. That’s not what I meant, and you fucking know it. None of us will be here. Pavel will have finished his reduced sentence for all those escape attempts. Hikaru is maybe the best pilot I’ve ever seen, and his pardon’s supposed to be coming through any day now. Fuck even knows where Scotty is. Uhura’s due to serve on the Enterprise. And I don’t know what Spock’s planning on doing but I feel like your being trapped here with him is somehow a new worst option for you. And I- can’t stay here.”

“If you wouldn’t stay for me, why would I go up there for you?”

The question makes Jim flinch, not because it’s unfair, but because he has no answer, right away. It sounds so terrible, when it’s put like that, except- “Staying here is not gonna do you any good. You’ll isolate. You’ll stumble through, what, the rest of your life, in the Academy clinic or on some starbase somewhere? Having your movements constantly monitored? Too terrified to even go to the bar and drink? You’re- amazing, Bones. I’ve read your old research papers. I spent five minutes watching that vid of you working on that spinal reconstruction and it blew me away. You could do so much good out there. For the right people. Those diseases, that we haven’t even discovered? They need a cure. And I think you’re the one who can figure that out. I want you with me, but- I wouldn’t push you like this if I didn’t know it was the best thing for you too.”

Bones sighs. “If we’re going to keep talking about this, I need a stronger drink.”

They don't reach any conclusions that night. That's okay. They still have time. 

-

Bones always comes right home after finishing a shift. Personally, Jim thinks it's something they probably need to talk about, because he has no extracurriculars, no social engagements. Jim's never even seen him on his comm, except to briefly confirm what shifts he's working at the clinic.

They're not quite ready to have that conversation, though. Bones has been shutting Jim down lately, every time he brings up the possibility of a change in routine, and Jim's wary of shattering the fragile trust that's built up between them.

Except Bones is four hours late home from work. His schedule's displayed on Jim's padd, and no changes have been made, and yet he's not home. Records show he was signed out by his superior five minutes after he was due to leave.

Jim checks inpatient records and security reports first, but thankfully finds nothing there. And he's got to be up early for a soccer game somewhere out of the city, but he won't sleep without knowing if Bones is alright.

He hasn't actually been to the clinic yet. Of course he knows where it is, but it's not exactly somewhere he'd go out of his way to visit. Since that time Bones patched him up, he's found himself remaining miraculously uninjured, or at least not injured enough for the clinic. He twisted his ankle during a rough tackle once, but he figured it would clear up on its own and just kept walking on it until Bones spotted how swollen it was and fixed it himself, ranting about Jim's flagrant irresponsibility all the while.

Jim is beginning to realise that's how Bones shows affection. It's also how he shows exasperation, impatience and irritation, though, so he's been trying not to push it.

The clinic is brightly lit, not too busy, a woman he vaguely recognises running the front desk. She goes to hand him a padd to fill out a form, and he gives her his best attempt at a charming smile in return. She narrows her eyes at him. Jim wonders if all medical staff are naturally suspicious.

"Actually, I was looking for Doctor McCoy. He was due to meet me. But he never made it. I thought maybe he'd finished late."

"He's in surgery. He didn't ask me to let anyone know he'd be late."

"It was a pretty casual arrangement. But- he started work at oh eight hundred. Isn't there somebody else who could-"

"There were some complications in surgery. He'll be out when he's done. I suggest you comm him."

Jim sighs. He hates this. He and Bones don't have a relationship that can be defined, so it's no wonder nobody takes it seriously. But Bones has been at work for sixteen hours, and Jim knows he doesn't pack lunch. He'll come home, sleep, get up and do it all again, like he can work his way through his owed hours in a single lifetime if he just tries hard enough.

Change of plan, then. "He won't be done in the next thirty minutes or so, will he?"

"I sincerely doubt it."

"Great, thanks."

Thirty minutes is how long it takes Jim to make it to the twenty-four hour diner just off campus, buy some french toast, some bacon, sausages, eggs. It'll keep for a little while, and he'll eat whatever doesn't travel too well.

So when Bones staggers out of the building just over an hour later, weary and drawn, Jim is there, greeting him with a hug and a smile that only broadens at the expression of acute alarm on Bones' face.

"You have an early game, you should be sleeping," Bones says, although he does hug back, heavy with exhaustion.

"I brought breakfast."

"I'm not hungry." It's not convincing, and it gets less so when the smell of food makes Bones' stomach rumble loudly. "I need sleep."

"You need fresh air. Come on. I have an idea." Jim takes Bones' hand, receives words but no physical resistance, knows it's okay for as long as he heads towards their building.

"I can't, Jim. I've basically got a curfew. You know there's a tracker in my comm and if I'm caught outside there'll be hell to pay."

"It works on GPS though, right?"

"What the hell difference does it make?"

"A very important one. It means that it's tracking your position in relation to the surface of the Earth, rather than in relation to man-made structures."

"I'm too damn tired for the lecture, Jim."

"Just- ten minutes, Bones." Jim stops to look him in the eye then, steps in close without releasing his hand and smiles in the face of all that weariness. "Trust me. If you're not happy, I'll bring you home and put you to bed myself. Undress you. Tuck you in."

Slightly disappointingly, none of that imagery diverts Bones from his intense glare. That's okay. Jim is happy to meet those tired eyes all the same, to smile and turn away to lead Bones once more. He follows, in a silence that Jim can't quite read without looking at him. In that moment, it all feels a little fragile, and he doesn't dare try to complicate things, for fear of breaking what they've built.

They get back to their building but instead of getting in the elevator, Jim ducks into the fire escape and takes the stairs, ignoring Bones' groan. He goes further than their room on the second floor, too, takes them all the way up to the fourth and then up again, out onto the roof.

Bones almost stops in the doorway, but Jim has checked. It's okay for students to be up here, and there's even some fake turf laid out, a few chairs and rugs left out by those who have been out at a more reasonable hour, maybe enjoying the sunshine. So he leads the way, confident enough that as far as the tracking software is concerned, Bones is at the dorm.

"Ten minutes. French toast. Bacon. Eggs. My company. It'll be fun."

And Bones bites his lip, uncharacteristically unsure, casts his gaze upwards to the stars, then at Jim, who's rearranging blankets so they'll be as comfortable as possible, laying out comfort food.

He steps out onto the rood, takes hesitant steps to Jim's side and sits, wearily. He accepts his serving of French toast, more bacon and sausage than Jim has ever seen him consume and entirely too much syrup, his sidelong look just daring Jim to say anything about it.

Jim can't help the answering smile that stretches his face with how wide it is. His plan is working. "How was your day?" he asks, too, though a mouthful of his own.

"Shitty," Bones replies, but it's matter of fact rather than distressed, so Jim knows it's within the boundaries of the usual standards of shitty, rather than excessively so. Some days he doesn't even get an answer, just some form of disgruntled sound, maybe some incoherent cursing. "I volunteered for that surgery. Patient would have died under anybody else. I know you think I work too hard, but- I needed to do that one."

There are so many things Jim could say. He doesn't know enough about what happened to comment, really. He settles on, "Proud of you, Bones."

Bones says nothing, but he hides his smile behind another mouthful of food and doesn't move away when Jim shifts a little closer, so their arms are touching. They eat, and Jim savours the warmth of Bones' body against his side in the cool night air. He's not that hungry, but he won't let them waste food, and if it gets Bones through a little more than his fair share, well, Jim's okay with that.

It's late, though, and he should be asleep, so he feels colder than he might have otherwise. He's ready to pout when Bones moved away, but he's only grabbing a blanket he drapes around both of them. Jim shifts closer still. Just to make it easier. It's worth the risk of rejection; Bones wraps an arm around his shoulders and holds him, and Jim's heart races. They're not even drunk. Every part where their bodies meet is hot and electric, and it's all Jim can do to hold himself back, to allow himself to lean in and cushion his head on a muscled shoulder, but no more.

"Thanks for breakfast, darlin'."

"You're welcome, sweetheart," Jim mumbles back, not quite as ironically as he'd intended. Bones makes a soft sound of amusement, nudges him, and Jim groans. He's comfy, his eyes slipping shut, his breathing slowing.

"You can't sleep here," Bones reminds him, distantly.

"Just resting, for a minute. You said I-" Jim yawns- "Should be sleeping."

"Big game today, right?"

"Semi-final. You could come, you know."

"Jim-"

"No, I asked Chris. You just have to submit a form. You'd probably be giving some poor security officer a fun day out, supervising you."

Bones snorts. Jim forces his eyes open, stares lazily off into the distance. He's not entirely comfortable, wants to lay down, snuggle against Bones' side under a blanket and just sleep there all night under the stars. But he can't. 

"I'll help you fill them out, if you like," he offers, instead, and if he reaches out to toy idly with the bottom hem of Bones' shirt, well, it's keeping him entertained and awake. He's not delving underneath to run his fingers over warm skin like he wants, even though it's tempting.

"Hope you're still talking about the forms."

Yeah, Jim's never been that subtle. He stops toying, but doesn't move his hand. "Both. Or pick one. Offer still stands."

"I might just do that," Bones says, and then he's hauling Jim to his feet, an arm around his waist where he's unsteady. Just from the sudden change in orientation. "Come on, bed."

When he's depositing Jim onto his mattress, the reality of his words sinks in. Jim asks, "You'll- you'll do the forms?"

"Not for the soccer game. I'd rather be back on work detail than watching that, no matter how good you are,"

"Fair," Jim agrees. He's no good at watching sports, either.

"But there's somewhere I'd like to go. You could- come with me, if you wanted."

"I'd like that."

"It won't be a fun trip."

"It's with you," Jim mumbles, pretty much into his pillow, is most of the way to asleep when he hears, or maybe dreams, Bones' reply, a sort of exhausted, affectionate sigh.

"Damnit, Jim."

-

They stand at the entrance to the cemetery for full minutes, just the sound of trees rustling in the wind, the singing of birds. It should be pleasant, but Jim's conscious of Bones' ragged breathing, coming faster than his. He doesn't quite dare reach out and offer comfort. It's a memory he has no part of, a world in which he has no place, something Bones has to get through on his own. Jim's just going to be there for the moment he's done.

Unsteadily, and looking more than a little ill, Bones steps through the gate. For all his hesitance, he seems to know exactly where he's going, and even the two security officers with them follow at a respectful distance, in silence. Jim just stays at his shoulder, present but on the outskirts of it all. He's never really done the whole cemetery thing. There's a grave for his dad, back home, but nothing in it. It's always seemed pointless to visit, even though he knows that's not really how it works. It wasn't like he could have gone back to Riverside without risking getting arrested anyway.

There are family plots, Jim realises, as they pass a few huge memorials, enscribed with multiple names. The thought sort of makes him shudder, bodies in various states of decomposition all clustered together, but it's a kind of reunion, too. Maybe if he had more of a family he'd understand.

They pass the McCoy mausoleum before they reach whatever Bones is looking for. Jim hangs back to check, real quick, just in case, feels a sense of overwhelming relief when he sees that the newest name is David, dated around four years ago. He has no idea what he would have done if it hadn't been.

Bones stops at a plot, rather than a mausoleum, although the monument is huge, ornate, topped with a statue of an angel. The family name, in large block letters, is Darnell, and the last name on the list, if it can be referred to in such a pedestrian sense, is Jocelyn. She was twenty-six.

Jim's twenty-six. He hasn't really thought about it, before, and he feels terrible, suddenly. He's made mistakes, too, got involved with people he shouldn't have. His childhood instilled him with a survival instinct that's kept him going, so far, and the thought of having his life cut short, at this moment- it fucking hurts. Thinking of what he has yet to achieve, who he'd be leaving behind. He wonders if she knew what was happening. Hopes she didn't. Nobody deserves to know.

Bones reaches out to touch the date, carved into stone, and Jim half expects him to stay silent, certainly doesn't expect his first words, spoken low and wrought with emotion. "You were a shitty wife."

He has to clap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from making a sound. Bones doesn't notice. He's somewhere else, in that moment, continues after a brief pause, his head down, voice strained. 

"But you were a good person. You didn't deserve any of this. I'm sorry. I hope you knew I never wanted this for you. I only ever wanted you to be happy. I thought I could do that, for you. I really did. We were so damn young- I guess you always will be.

"And I was a shitty husband, too. Working all the time. I know you knew why. I should have listened to you. Maybe if I'd spent a little more time at home this never would have happened. My therapist says I can't think like that, but I still wonder. If maybe I could have saved you.

"All you ever wanted was to be loved. And it drove me crazy, because you didn't always care about where that love came from or why. Because I knew I'd never be enough. I never really thought about it the way that I should. That you chose me. To be more to you than anybody else. To always be at your side.

"You were my best friend. God, I hope there's something after this, so you get a chance for something more. Not exactly sure what awaits me. Just- I love you. I'm sorry. I don't care what the fuck anybody else thinks, but I need you to know that."

His voice stays steady, throughout, despite the tears streaming down his cheeks. His hand is still on that stone, on that date, and he just presses his palm flat against it for a moment before taking a step back, meeting Jim's eyes.

"Why are you crying?" he asks, with a reasonable impression of exasperation, and Jim sobs, wiping his eyes.

"She knew."

That, of all things, makes Bones' lip wobble. "I hope so."

"The whole thing is entirely fucked." Jim says, too, in lieu of _I'm sorry_ , which he knows first hand is unhelpful and meaningless.

"Yeah, it is." Bones doesn't seem to want to leave, stands staring at that stone for another few moments.

"We can come back, any time."

"Long as it's signed off in triplicate."

"Well, keep trying. Maybe they'll get used to filling out the forms. It'll go faster, next time."

Bones bumps his shoulder companionably as they turn around to walk out. The security officers keep out of their way, fall behind them again, still silent. Under their scrutiny, Jim doesn't quite dare reach for Bones' hand, even though he knows better than anyone how much physical contact reassures him.

So when they're in the back of the car again, security officers in the front seats, preparing to get them back to the shuttle port, he does it then. Bones is staring distractedly out of the window, and Jim is just overwhelmed with how fucking proud he is, how well Bones is coping with everything he's been through, how he's managed to leave the Academy for the first time since they arrived, even taking his seat in the shuttle without complaining, just a few deep breaths belaying his repressed fears. Bones' hand is on the seat between them, and Jim reaches out and takes it in both of his own, feels the warmth and solidity of this precious, inspiring man. The one who, every day, shows him what the human form can go through, and still come out decent and good. Bones' expression doesn't change, he doesn't turn, but his fingers curl around Jim's and hold there.

"What the- fuck?" the pilot says, though, and it's a moment before Jim realises why; another car hurtles towards the cemetary at speed, slams to a halt directly in front of them, at an angle clearly intending to prevent them from leaving.

Jim tenses. Both security officers reach for phasers, but the confrontation they're expecting doesn't exactly materialise. Instead, a young woman gets out, and even through the soundproofing Jim can see she's pleading frantically. One of the security officers cracks the window, and she is pleading, she's begging them to stay for just one more moment, that she just has to- 

"Wait, just look-" she says, and rounds the car to open the passenger door and reach inside. Hands tighten on phasers. Jim has no idea what she could possibly want.

Bones opens his door and steps out the car.

"Bones!" Jim calls after him, and then they're all scrambling out. He stops, when Bones holds up a hand to halt him, but the security officers certainly don't, advancing on the poor woman as she straightens with something in her arms. "Wait!"

Everyone stops. Everyone, that is, except the squirming child in the woman's arms. For a moment, nobody speaks.

"Susanne, what are you doing here?" Bones' voice cracks for the first time as he asks. He doesn't seem to dare step closer, and Jim doesn't entirely blame him, the atmosphere tense and confused. They're not considered a particularly high escape risk, and the security officers are inexperienced and likely to respond poorly to what they don't understand.

"I had to see you. I had to tell you that- that we knew you didn't do it." Susanne speaks as though Bones knows to whom she refers, but he looks blank. "I've never- she's never thought that you did. And she knows- we've never claimed to be her biological parents."

Holy shit. Jim feels a little unsteady at the revelation, can only imagine what it's doing to Bones, who looks as though the world has shifted beneath him. He stares at the child, who has stopped squirming but is huddled into Susanne's side, eyeing them all suspiciously. And he moves, his whole world narrowed down to that one point so that he doesn't notice the security officers stepping towards him. 

"Hey, back off, that's his kid!" Jim doesn't mean to command, but it makes them step back anyway.

Bones' hands shake as he reaches out to them, goes to take Joanna from Susanne's arms and stops, flinching back, when she clings and hides her face.

Susanne smiles at both of them, readjusts her hold on the child to speak just to her. "Do you remember what I said, Joanna? That you're a part of our family and we love you, and your daddy loves you too? This is him. I showed you pictures. He looks the same, doesn't he?"

Joanna eyes Bones doubtfully. Jim has no idea how much a three-year-old understands of what's happening, but after a few moments, she reaches out with a pudgy hand for Bones to shake, and mumbles a toddler-ish approximation of, "Nice to meet you."

Bones creases, almost doubles over with something like pain, hangs his head for a moment over a tiny, gentle handshake and when he lifts it again, he's crying, his words laden with emotion. "Nice to meet you too, sweetheart. I haven't seen you since you were tiny. I'm so glad you're safe."

"We've taken good care of her, Leo." Susanne affectionately brushes a strand of brown hair from Joanna's face, tucking it behind her ear. "She's so smart, just like you."

"She might get that from your side of the family."

"Well, it is a pretty good gene pool." Susanne smiles, attempts to extricate herself from Joanna's clinging, with little success.

"I didn't even know she was here. They never told me."

"I figured it was something like that. I know nothing else would have kept you from her. You were always a natural daddy. Joss was the envy of every woman in town, for a while. They saw you with that baby in your arms and melted. It was embarrassing."

Bones can't quite bring himself to smile at that, although it seems like the memory takes him somewhere good. For reasons Jim doesn't let himself think too much about, that's when he turns, too, gesturing for Jim to come closer.

"Hi," Jim says, to Susanne and to Joanna, who squints at him suspiciously. She's pretty damn cute. She has Bones' eyes, although he was right about that gene pool; there's something of Susanne in the shape of her face.

"Well, hi there. I'm Susanne Darnell. Thanks for convincing your friends not to shoot at me, back there."

"Kinda figured it would ruin the moment. Jim Kirk."

He nearly sighs when he sees that moment of realisation, the recognition of his name. It's been a long time since anybody has cared more about what his father did than everything he's got so catastrophically wrong since then, but outside of Starfleet it's still not common for anybody to know about what happened on and around Tarsus IV. 

“Oh. My florist has a cousin who was on the Kelvin. But- I imagine you must hear that all the time. I’m sorry.”

Jim doesn't. But hearing her say it, with Bones right there, knowing it's going to be awful when he has to leave his daughter behind, again, makes him think. “Not at all. It’s good. To know that- what he did had such a far-reaching effect. It makes me proud to be his son.”

Susanne gives him a grateful, sympathetic smile. Joanna chews on her fingers.

Bones gives him a sidelong look. “Subtle.”

“It’s also true.” Jim shrugs, unrepentant. He’s not above using his history to get his way, when it counts. “Sometimes when you have to do what’s necessary, it can be good. Not everybody’s strong enough to face up to that.”

It makes Bones sigh, but he also looks thoughtful. He stares at Joanna, eyes wet, a crease in his brow, reaches out for her cautiously and softens when she puts her little hand in his.

“You’ll keep her safe,” he says to Susanne, who nods. “I’ll- send letters. Maybe when she’s older, she can-“

“I’ll read them to her. Use small words.”

“I’m so glad she’s been with you.”

“She’s family, Leo. Just like you.”

Ever so gently, Bones hugs her. Joanna wraps a skinny arm around his neck, too, and he sobs, just once, before straightening. “Could I- call?”

“Of course. Before six. I’ll make sure she can see you on the screen, as often as possible.”

Their guards are getting twitchy. Clearly neither of them have kids, themselves. Bones is still staring at Joanna, like he can imprint the image of her in his mind forever. It must be agonising, to tear himself away from her again.

“You’ll send pictures, right?” Jim prompts, too. He takes Bones' comm out of his unsteady hands to input Susanne's comm number, calls it quickly to check it's correct. He's not taking any chances.

“As soon as we get home.”

And it's the last thing Jim wants to say, but they're still only allowed out for a designated period of time, "We should go, Bones."

"I know. Just- one more minute."

Jim looks to the guards with raised eyebrows. One of them checks his watch. Dick. The other one nods.

"I'm so proud of you, beautiful girl," Bones leans in to say to Joanna, and she holds out her arms for a hug, and he holds her for a long, precious moment. She's so tiny, and Bones is so unfailingly careful with her. Jim feels like he might cry again, and he's not even sure who for. Susanne sniffles and gives him a wobbly smile.

"I love you. I'll always love you. Your mom, too. You're the best thing either of us have ever done," Bones murmurs, against soft hair that's the same colour as his. His eyes are closed as he breathes her in, and he smiles at her, with her, before handing her back to Susanne. "I miss you, every day."

Joanna waves at him, as Susanne prepares to leave, gets her fastened in her seat in the car. She's still waving when Susanne smiles at them both, and slides into her own seat with a nod in a direction of the security officers as she moves her car out of their way. She leaves smears on the glass with her sticky hands as they go, and she's staring at them out the back window until the car disappears from view.

Jim offers a hand to Bones, but he doesn't take it. He slumps into his seat in the car in silence, closes his eyes and ignores any attempts to interact with him. He boards the shuttle and does the same there. Jim's happy enough to sit next to him, to be there if he's needed, suspects he knows how things will go.

Sure enough, the door to their room whooshes shut behind them and Bones all-but shoves him back against it to hug him, hard. He's trembling, his breath hitching like he can't even bring himself to sob, like it's all too much for that. It's kind of difficult to breathe.

Jim just holds him, kisses his cheek, lets Bones shake apart in his arms like he couldn't, out there. "I'm so proud of you, Bones."

"Thank you." Bones gasps back, and Jim knows it's not just for his words. He smiles, leans his cheek against Bones' temple, keeps him wrapped up in his arms for a long stretch of minutes until with a long, shuddering sigh, Bones stands. "So- what's a cadet got to do these days to get themselves a starship posting?"

Jim squeals and hugs him again, until he's being batted ineffectually away and they're both laughing.

-

It’s unusual for Jim to feel like the comparatively stable one in any relationship. He does his best, copes like he always has, is always there and willing to help Bones with any aspect of his day. Jim’s doing alright, after all. He’s not simultaneously rekindling a relationship with his daughter and facing his greatest fear while the few freedoms of his life remain controlled by the Federation.

He is assigned to the USS Narbonne for six weeks and the officers treat him civilly, but they're not overly friendly. It's more than he could have expected. It's actually pretty reassuring to know that he can screw up, but still rely on them to have his back in the most basic, professional sense, even if they don't invite him to social events at first. By the end of his posting, though, some of them are actually treating him like he's one of them.

He exchanges comms with Bones, with Chris, with Uhura. Scotty sends him really terrible science jokes. It makes him wonder how he got through life without anybody on his side, before. Everything seems easier, somehow, now he knows he has those people out there somewhere, even if his circumstances at that moment aren't ideal.

When he comes back, he feels like he's really made progress. The nightmares come less frequently. Bones isn't quite willing to acknowledge that he missed him, but he does hug him tight, the first time they see each other. Jim even allows himself to have a few gaps in his schedule, where he might actually have a chance to think about everything.

Then he does the Kobayashi Maru.

He’s heard it’s unwinnable. Of course he has. But people have said that about a lot of things in his life, and he’s not in the habit of believing other people when he can experience something for himself.

He lasts longer than ninety-eight percent of cadets, apparently, even though he takes it earlier in his training than most of them. He can’t find solace in that. His entire crew, fictional or not, is dead. A few extra minutes only gave them more time to contemplate their fate. It’s not good enough.

He knows that’s the point of the exercise. If he can’t accept loss, then he isn’t mature enough to be the Captain. But he keeps his head through the whole thing, doesn’t think anybody notices that it’s tearing him up inside, knows nobody hears the hitch in his voice when he gives his first command after seeing Bones collapse over his terminal. It’s part of the simulation. He knows that. It still nearly breaks him.

He manages to hold the emotion back until they’re safely in that room, in their safe haven away from the rest of the world, from instructors and other cadets who might consider that to be a weakness. Bones has learned the hard way not to get too close when he’s upset, but this time Jim clings, unable to contemplate losing sight of him even for a moment, hauls him by his shirt into a hug and keeps him there, just for a little while.

That’s long enough for him to figure out exactly what’s bothering him, the part of it that sticks in his chest like a physical wound. And it goes against every instinct he has, but he’s had too much experience of loss and knows how sudden it can be. There’s no way he can deny it any more. Whatever happens, it can’t hurt worse than that uncertainty. It doesn’t matter that he and Bones haven’t known each other that long, really, that they still haven’t crossed any boundaries that could go beyond a solid friendship, that he’s never said it to anybody that he can remember.

“I love you,” Jim says, and they’re just words, it makes no fucking sense that they should hurt so much, or that he should feel so much of a need to justify them. He feels fragile and broken open and like Bones’ arms around him might be the only thing keeping him together.

“Jim-“

“I don’t care about the Maru, Bones. I don’t care that you don't, or hat this isn’t where we are, in our relationship, or whether it’s right. I don’t fucking care about any of it. But if I ever have to watch you die I need you to know.”

“I-“

“Please don’t say anything,” Jim pleads, then, pressing his face into Bones’ neck, because it’s not the words themselves that terrify him, he’s realising, but the response. He just needs to have said it. To have done all he could.

Bones ignores him, though, because it’s what he does when he thinks Jim is being ridiculous. “If anything happens to me, I need you to know that I know. And I love you, too.”

Jim has hundreds of possible scenarios running through his head at that moment, and this doesn’t match any of them. It doesn’t make sense. “You do?”

Bones laughs. He does that when he thinks Jim is being ridiculous, too. Frankly it’s miraculous they get along at all. Jim hasn’t really been thinking about it, didn’t have the space in his brain, but he lets his hold shift from clinging to -maybe just slightly- cuddling, rests his head on Bones’ shoulder with a sigh. Bones’ hand settles, warm, on the small of his back, and he rests his cheek against Jim’s hair.

“Why do you think I hold myself back like this? It’s not because I don’t care. It’s because I’d do anything for you. Including- protecting you from this.” That warm hand moves so Bones can gesture to himself, and if it were anybody else Jim would be ready to fight them for saying something like that about his friend.

“I don’t need protecting from you,” he says, instead, squeezing, pressing closer, highlighting all the parts where their bodies connect to prove it.

It makes Bones sigh, as though they’ve had this conversation a hundred times. “You don’t know-“

They have had the conversation a hundred times, and Jim will stop having it when Bones finally realises he’s right, “What, I haven’t seen you at your worst? You got something planned for me that’s going to top all that-“

“I got my wife killed, Jim.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“And yet it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for me. I can’t lose you.”

Okay, they’ve not had the exact conversation. It’s never been quite so fraught with emotion before. They’ve both always taken a step back, emotionally. Jim doesn’t know if it’s progress, but he takes one back, literally, so he can see Bones’ face. “But you won’t let yourself have me, either.”

Bones’ eyes are shadowed, and Jim knows why. He’s lost so much. He’s sure all that same fear and doubt is reflected in his own face, but he’s unwilling to let it stop him, when it comes to this. He’s already risked everything he can, when it comes to this man. The threat of some random criminal deciding to off him is no more than he lives with every day already, and he’d rather spend the intervening days having the relationship he wants, that he knows they both want. He’s had a hell of a day, and he’s faced up to losing the one person in the world that matters the most to him. He’s feeling reckless, like there’s nothing anybody could possibly throw at him that’s any worse than what he’s already been through.

“It’s a small price to pay,” Bones still argues, although he won’t meet Jim’s eyes as he does it.

It’s probably why he doesn’t manage to stop Jim from kissing him. It’s chaste, and gentle, just Jim leaning in enough to fit their mouths together, so easily. They’re so close to having more, and even the smallest touch feels good and right and like it fills Jim with life. “Is it?” he asks, and darkened eyes do meet his, then, where they’d closed. “Bones, anybody with eyes, ears, any fucking sensory organ can see how we feel about each other, whether we deny it or not. We’re already as doomed as we’re ever gonna get.”

“Is this supposed to be reassuring?”

“It’s supposed to be true. You’re so used to letting someone else be in control of your life when you don’t have a choice, but this one is a prison of your own making. You’re restricting yourself when you could be free. You deserve those small freedoms, Bones. Even the Federation would let you have this one, if you let yourself have it, too.”

“You’re a manipulative bastard,” Bones growls, and grabs a fistful of his shirt to haul him in for another kiss, a proper one that makes Jim’s heart race and his toes curl.

He’s smiling too much to deepen it. It’s a total disaster, but he laughs, relief feeling like a literal weight off his shoulders, presses additional small kisses to Bones’ lips until he can manage to correct, “Masterful negotiator.”

Bones bites him. It’s so fucking hot Jim could melt, maybe does a little, pressing his body in closer, barely allows the answering growl, “Pain in my ass.”

Jim goes light-headed with the speed at which blood rushes to his groin. “Oh, God, yes please.”

“Juvenile reprobate.”

“Please let me fuck you, I’ll never ask for anything ever again.”

“Oh, and you’re a liar, too.” But Bones is smiling, a light in his eyes that Jim had been so terrified to think would never again be directed at him. He’s gorgeous, and Jim is lovestruck, would promise him anything in that moment. Bones just says, “How about we just make it to a bed and see what happens?”

“Anything you want, Bones.”

“Careful. I might just take you up on that.”

-

"How do you expect us to beam onto that ship before it arrives? It's travelling at warp!" Jim throws up his hands. Everything's going to shit; Nero has Chris and all his fellow officers can do is come up with ridiculous plans that can't possibly work. His outburst earns him scowls from the majority of those same officers, and Pavel opens his mouth as though he's about to object, although he doesn't say anything.

Jim levels him with an expectant look. "You cannot be about to say you can do that, too."

He feels terrible almost immediately. Pavel falters. He's been feeling terrible, guilty and regretful about what happened to Spock's mother, and Jim's really got to apologise to him later for all of this. It's not his fault. He's trying his best, and he's still so damn young, and he doesn't deserve to have Jim taking out his frustration on him.

Despite Jim's attitude, though, Pavel lifts his chin and says, "I cannot. But I know someone who can."

Well. It's not the most ridiculous thing Jim's heard all day. "Do what you need to do."

-

"Does anybody have a- oh. Thanks." Scotty might not quite have his transporter technology as perfect as he wants it, yet, judging by his chosen landing point, but he catches the towel Pavel throws at his head, returns the grin he receives with a wink. He appears entirely unconcerned about the fact that he's dripping water all over the Bridge. "So where's this ship we're trying to commandeer?"

-

"Do we have to go home?" Pavel muses on the Bridge, one day, when they're limping back to Earth, their warp engine decimated by Scotty's antics and Jim's hastily-made command decisions. "Can we not just- take the ship and go exploring?"

"Think my husband might have something to say about that," Hikaru shrugs, although he's got that air about him, like he's genuinely considering it all the same.

"Ben would come too. We could raise Demora to the life of an outlaw."

"That does sound adorable."

"I think Starfleet might frown on us kidnapping the crew of their flagship," Uhura says, though.

"I agree. It is a most illogical course of action. We should return to Earth so that our engine repairs are funded by Starfleet, first." Spock pipes up, and Jim puts his head in his hands. Suddenly he has a lot more sympathy for Chris.

"Guys, we just got out of prison. You think we could maybe make it through one mission without getting arrested for Grand Theft Starship?"

"Not with the way you run things." Scotty's spinning on a chair, even though he's supposed to be fixing one of their many broken terminals. "You shouldn't even have been on the ship in the first place."

"Okay, firstly-" Jim points at him, "I didn't realise anybody had told you that. And secondly, neither should you!"

"I was invited aboard by one of your senior officers," Scotty gestures to Pavel, who shrugs unrepentantly.

"And anyway, how would they arrest us? We have their flagship." Pavel grins, too, and Jim grimaces rather than return it. It's no wonder Starfleet didn't want to have them all on the same crew.

-

"Do you ever wonder what the hell you were thinking, sitting in that chair?" Jim asks, leaning back in the seat next to Chris' bed in Med-Bay, receives a sympathetic smile in response.

"Are they having the space pirates debate, yet?"

"Oh, thank fuck, I thought I'd completely lost control!"

"Well, now, let's not rule that out," Bones calls over, with a wink.

God, Jim adores him. They've had the conversation, the tears, the desperate thank-fuck-we're-alive sex, and all that's left is a deep, warm satisfaction, an undeniable knowledge that they're in it together.

"It does sound fun, though, doesn't it?" Chris muses, still a little drunkenly with the painkillers and sedatives he's on. His whole nervous system's a mess, would be even worse if Bones hadn't pieced him together one fragment at a time, if the rest of the crew hadn't done their best to get him off that ship.

"Being able to go wherever we want," Bones agrees, in the ultimate betrayal. He entirely ignores Jim's outraged expression.

"Never having to ask permission," Chris continues.

"We'd make more money too."

"How the fuck-" Jim needs to know, urgently, "Did I become the most sensible person on this crew?"

"We'll have to mutiny," Chris says to Bones, literally over Jim's head.

"I'll get him while he sleeps."

Well, now- "Gunna tie me up and keep me out of the way, Bones?"

"For starters."

Chris rolls his eyes. "This is why Starfleet didn't want us all on the same ship."

"The sexual tension is unbearable," Jim agrees. "See me in my quarters after your shift, Doctor, and we'll discuss our best course of action."

"Yes, sir."

"Pretty sure being present for this is torture and against a number of conventions. I'd be better off with the Romulans," Chris mutters.

There's a moment where they all reel from how inappropriate that is, and then they're all laughing, helplessly.

"Oh, we have to go back, don't we?" Chris sighs first, but he's smiling for what seems like the first time since everything.

"Least we still have a planet to go back to," Bones says, which immediately kills the mood and recalls Jim to his duty, caring for the crew and for the few stranded Vulcans they're transporting back to Earth, for lack of a better idea.

"Damnit, Bones."

"You've got this, Captain."

In a terrible set of circumstances, having watched one planet destroyed and risked their own, with Chris' injuries and all that they've been through, for the first time, Jim feels like he might believe him.


End file.
